Abomi
by gammara
Summary: The end.
1. Chapter 1

Abomi 

A/N: This takes the idea of Terra Prime and puts a bit of a spin on it. I also hope to answer why a child was created more clearly.

Major props to Angie who indicated this would be a more dramatic story.

---

Paxton played the digital images again – he did every day; it's how he motivated himself on the right thing to do and was reminded of a legacy, one his father left behind. Earth. Earth for Earthers. Terra Prime.

_It's the right thing to do,_ Paxton thought. He sipped his scotch and sighed at the video screen once more.

Colonel Green's visage – dark hair and eyes with a pale complexion -- filled the screen. Paxton didn't bother to turn the volume up, he knew the speech by heart and had since he was a boy; it was the one where he promised the people of Earth they would be safe from the threat of radiation, a sickness that would harm the younger generations of Earth. It was something that would keep the races of Terra pure. It's when he announced his plan to kill millions of infected people.

It was said in history books, the ones Paxton's father gave him – the ones that couldn't be located in a library, that Colonel Green was a savior of mankind. His mission, though controversial, saved humanity and killed off those sickest with radiation, people who would weaken an already ill population.

_Colonel Green is a saint. He did what any sane man would do. He had no choice. I have none either._

It's why Paxton had done such painstaking research on who was in charge of Enterprise. He'd heard the man had a friendship with a certain Vulcan, the same Vulcan who had _relations_ with a human already. That much he'd already known; he'd received the tidbit from one of his men stationed on Enterprise.

_T'Pol._

She sickened him – both that she would have a friendship and _relations_ with humans. He didn't necessarily blame the captain or the engineer, who he assumed had been enticed by her alien ways. It was a long-held belief that Vulcans could hypnotize people with their eyes.

A light cough behind him let him know someone was waiting for him, interrupting his thoughts. Setting down his drink, he paused the video and turned to see a large black man behind him.

"Yes, Watson?" Paxton asked.

"The doctor wanted me to tell you he's ready."

Paxton smirked and nodded. Standing, letting the affects of the alcohol he'd been sipping and his anxiety medicine intertwine, he headed to the back of the facility through caverns and drilled rock until he reached a steel door. Entering a few numbers, he sauntered in, noticing a creature – a stirring one – in a crib on the other end of the room.

_Good, I was afraid the kid had died._

The bed was plastic and see-through with a lid covering it, like the child was being held in a cage.

As Paxton peered at the child, he grimaced. The baby's large green eyes stared at him in wonder and she stuck a childish thumb in her mouth as if any human baby might.

_Hardly human. That thing defiles nature. It is ungodly. Unnatural. _

She wasn't like the other ones the doctor had tried to bring into existence – the ones with deformities; this one seemed on the outside perfect, even her green skin and menacing, pointed ears. It was too bad, he'd hoped one of the mutant ones had lived; it'd make his case to prevent crossbreeding more compelling.

"I've decided to name her Abomi," said the doctor.

Clapping the man on the back, Paxton smiled. Dr. Jeremy Mann – a student of Dr. Soong, back before he left the university … or rather was forced to leave – was a brilliant man and one just as dedicated in saving the human race.

"Abomi?" Paxton asked.

"Abomination. Seems only fitting."

Paxton laughed. "I suppose it is."

Crossing the sterile room, he mashed his thumb against a red button next to his monitor to signal his communications man: Watson.

"Yes," Watson said.

"We're ready. Get me Starfleet."

---

Archer sighed as he tried to keep his eyes focused on the screen ahead, instead of allowing them to drift shut, which is what they'd wanted to do ever since this film began. It wasn't just that the room was dark and quiet; this was _another _horror flick, _another _one from the 1970s about a vampire and one Trip insisted he see.

"This is where it gets good," Trip said. His elbow jabbed into Archer's ribcage.

"Hmmm," the captain said.

A vampire grabbed a girl and plunged his teeth into her neck. Of course, the woman was scantily clad – as all of them were – which made Archer wonder whether _that_ was the reason they were watching this movie.

Because one bite obviously wasn't enough, the man held the woman and bit again tearing muscles in his teeth.

Instead of gasps, the room was silent, save one snoring moviegoer that sounded suspiciously like Lt. Reed.

Archer's eyes drifted closed until he heard an annoyed voice. It prompted his eyes to flash open.

"When does this get good?" Travis asked.

Trip frowned. "You people have no taste. This film was a _classic_."

Phlox said, "I enjoy it."

Trip pointed to the good doctor, located on the other the nearly vacant room. "Least someone likes _Son of Dracula_."

Phlox said, "Yes, I have a good view of the two kissing in the front row."

Trip rolled his eyes as the couple parted, frightened by the outburst.

A beep and a "Bridge to Captain Archer" from the intercom interrupted the movie, which meant Archer leapt up to answer it.

_Saved by the bell, _the captain thought.

"Archer."

"Captain, I … it would be best if you came to your Ready Room."

It was T'Pol, and her voice sounded worried.

"Be right there."

Striding down the hallways, walking faster than his normal pace, he reached the Bridge in less than ten minutes. He was glad he put the hurry on; his normally stoic first officer was pale and he noticed her hands were shaking. Without any explanation, she wordlessly furrowed her brow and strode into the Ready Room as he followed behind her.

"What's--?" he asked.

She shook her head to halt his question until the door slid close. When the portal was secure, she paced.

She said, "You … you may want to sit down."

Normally he would've put up a fuss, but her reaction made him obliged to accept.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"We received a transmission from Starfleet."

He waited as she struggled for the words.

"They've been contacted by a group called Terra Prime about a … child. A … half-Vulcan child."

"Oh?"

Straightening her spine, she folded her hands behind her back. "A half-Vulcan and half-human child."

After waiting what felt like hours for what exactly was wrong with a half-Vulcan/half-human child, he leaned forward. "T'Pol?"

"Starfleet has verified the data. The child is …."

"Yes?"

"Captain," she said. "Captain, the child is ours."

The only reaction he could give was to strain his ear closer to her and duck his head, hoping to catch the information again. He knew he hadn't heard correctly.

T'Pol said, "The baby is _our _offspring. Yours and mine."

"What?"

"Starfleet matched it to our DNA."

Hesitantly, T'Pol strode to his monitor and pressed her fingers along the console to bring up a picture. A baby appeared, one with pointed ears, olive skin, dark brown hair that swirled over the crown and large green eyes.

Dragging his feet to his desk to inspect the infant more closely, he stared at the photograph and then T'Pol.

The resemblance to T'Pol was striking, even besides the pointed ears and skin tone; the child had large lips and the hint of a smile on its face.

"Mine?" he asked.

"Yes." As if by reflex she pointed to the baby's eyes.

_Mine?_

Giving the picture one last gaze, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that his first officer shifted her weight and tried to give her his attention.

She said, "It's a female. Approximately six months."

A delicate question had to asked, one that made him cringe. "How did this child--?"

"I don't know. And I'm not certain why Terra Prime has it. Admiral Gardner provided few details, other than this image."

His finger stroked the screen. "Yours and mine?"

"Quite. They've run various tests, numerous times to ensure it. But … it's not just that."

Twisting his head, he braced himself by wrapping his hands on the desk's edge.

She whispered. "I can … feel the child's presence."

"I don't understand."

"Vulcan mothers bond with their children, sharing thoughts and feelings until the infant is one years of age. It ensures the baby survives and the mother can and will attend to its needs."

Archer frowned. "I'm … I don't know what to say."

"I am at a loss myself."

The Vulcan took a deep breath and eventually he filled the stale air between them.

"I … don't think we should mention anything to the crew," he said.

He'd intended the sentiment to be soft, more about protecting her embarrassment than his, but he couldn't help the crimson that had already sprung to his cheeks.

"They would find the news … problematic."

"Agreed." Swallowing hard, he thought it would be more than just _problematic_. "You going to be okay?"

"Yes." She didn't sound convinced. "Are you?"

"Yeah." He didn't wasn't convinced either.

Attempting to wear the mantle of captain and friend again, he crossed over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. The move usually felt reassuring even to him, but this time his stomach twisted and lurched. Even though he knew she was equally spooked, he kept it there. It was important whatever was going on, the two remained captain and first officer, as well as friends.

He said, "We'll get to the bottom of this."

Gazing at the floor, she nodded. "Of course."

"I'll contact the admiral and let you know if I learn anything new."

She walked slowly toward the door and then as if she had another question or a comment hung at the portal, her finger poised over the button.

"My bond with the child is strengthening."

"Don't worry," he said. It was the only thing he knew to.

With that, she opened the door and headed out.

TBC


	2. It's in the news

A/N: Why do I make people login to leave feedback? There have been a few trolls out there, and if you look through past and earlier stories, you might find what I'm talking about. Criticism is great; I always like to read it. I especially like story suggestions, even if I don't follow it. I like to hear when characters act out of synch or when people aren't pleased with a direction. I like to hear ways I can improve my writing and can take people pointing out grammatical errors (I usually cringe because I'm familiar with the rules and use my spell check – I just get lazy and rushed).

But, when people object to me liking a character (I actually got feedback indicating Archer would never want to learn Vulcan) or being spiteful purely because I'm writing about a couple they don't care for – that's when it's problematic. So, although some people have an entire persona set up to kinda be a jerk, making people log in usually keeps the riff-raff away.

And, isn't that sad? I think so, too.

---

According to Mayweather's calculations, it would take only four days until Enterprise reached Earth. Standard time hadn't changed, it was still set to Earth – Pacific Time, and yet the days dragged by, seemingly taking forever.

Yesterday, T'Pol had suggested she complete her work from her quarters, staying there until they arrived at space dock. Both the captain and she agreed that limiting their interaction would make the situation easier to accept and bear.

It didn't.

The same worries plagued his mind, even if T'Pol remained out of his field of vision. The child, their daughter, stayed in his mind's eye at work, and when he was in his cabin or the Ready Room he would stare at her image wondering what exactly would happen if they found this baby.

_Does T'Pol want to keep this child? Our child? _

_Do I?_

_Am I ready to be a father?_

_Is she ready to be a mother? _

_What does this do to my working relationship with T'Pol?_

Too many questions needed to be answered.

With more regret and confusion, he wondered what would happen if they didn't find their offspring.

_How would I feel knowing my child can't be recovered?_

_What would T'Pol feel?_

_Would we be able to move on? _

That wasn't the worst of things, he knew his first officer long enough and was friends with her well enough to know she _must _have similar misgivings and concerns. No doubt she was suffering silently.

Well after the end of his shift on the morning they were scheduled to reach Earth, he turned on the lights to his cabin and stared at the ceiling. After deciding he couldn't get back to sleep and was tired of losing so many hours to this issue, he jammed his finger on the comm to contact her. Surprisingly, or not so, she sounded awake.

They agreed to meet in her quarters.

Archer headed over to her cabin dressed in sweats, just as he might've years ago when he couldn't sleep … when something bothered him or when he wanted to give her good news.

Tapping on the chime, he waited for her to answer.

"Come in."

The door slid open to reveal his first officer clad in blue pajamas – unrumpled ones; her face was pale with dark green folds dangling around her eyes and the corners of her lips were barely turned down.

She obviously hadn't been sleeping well either.

"Thanks," he said. "I appreciate you seeing me so late."

Archer gave her a brief smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes and entered her room.

She said, "I am … relieved you wanted to discuss this. It seems we have a few details to determine before reaching headquarters."

"Yeah."

Blowing out a long breath, he sat down wearily in a chair at her desk as she folded herself in half on her bed.

"I don't know where to begin," he said. As he bit the inside of his cheek, attempting to sort out exactly what to say, he heard her speak.

"Do you want this child?" she asked.

_She always did know how to get right to it._

Leaning back, he frowned. "I guess I want to find her. I just don't know what happens next."

She sighed, unVulcanly, and he decided to address that, too. "You haven't been getting much sleep or meditating, have you?"

"No. My bond with this baby …. It makes it difficult to concentrate or sleep."

"Can Dr. Phlox help you?"

"No."

He wiped his hand over his face. Hoarsely, he asked her the same question. "Do you want her?"

"Yes," she said.

He said, "_If _we manage to rescue her--"

"I want her to live with me, if you are amenable to that."

"I guess I didn't consider that an option." She didn't respond, so he asked, "Where would you live?"

"I am uncertain." Averting her eyes, she glanced at the deck plating.

"I don't think a starship is a place to raise a child," he said.

"I don't either."

The two were quiet, and he finally spoke into the emptiness between them.

"This isn't easy is it?" he asked.

"No."

Getting up to pace, he decided to tell her about the unflattering expose he'd perused yesterday. By the coverage news, he'd guessed there were other stories in other papers.

"I read the _San Francisco Examiner_," he said.

An eyebrow peaked at him, probably because no one received news while away from Earth.

He said, "I pulled a few strings to see why Gardner was so jumpy."

"And?"

"We were on page 1."

"_We_?"

"They speculated that the two of us had a romantic relationship and that because you wanted to stay on Enterprise and protect my reputation, you gave away our child."

The story was more lurid than that, it speculated that they had been intimate since almost the very beginning. Their romance, they conjectured, was the reason that she hadn't been dragged away by Vulcan High Command for P'Jem and had joined the crew to enter Expanse and help Earth.

There was information about her alleged drug usage, something that "tore away her Vulcan control" and allowed her to "have sex with a human."

It didn't make sense to tell T'Pol any of it – it would only upset her needlessly at a time when was already worked up. Besides, he found it ridiculous and revolting, as well as distressing – the _San Francisco Examiner_ wasn't considered a rag.

"Why would they think such a thing?" she asked.

"I don't know."

"Do you think we will be contacted by the media?"

"Yes."

"Does Admiral Gardner agree with the press?"

"I wonder." _I'm sure that's why he's hell bent on seeing us._

Silence broke out, and she made a small confession.

"I have been considering telling Trip. We both agreed to keep this between ourselves, yet …."

The information caught him off guard and he furrowed his brow. He'd suspected the two were a little closer than merely friends since Tucker had left for the Columbia, but was never sure and didn't feel it was his place to ask.

Now, he was sure.

He agreed. "I don't think it's right to have him find out by watching the news."

"It is more complicated." The Vulcan folded her arms across her chest. "There was a connection between us. With a child created, one that does not belong to him … that connection has been broken."

"A connection?"

"A bond."

Surak's memories were vague, but he was able to glean what T'Pol was trying to convey. Vulcan men and women, partners, shared a bond – a mental link.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Does he know the connection is gone?"

"No. Humans are less sensitive to it, it seems."

He frowned. "A bond isn't vital to carrying on a relationship, is it?"

"Not necessarily. My people have married species where that bond is not possible. Sharing thoughts and feelings, for a Vulcan, is difficult; the bond makes it easier. It creates intimacy."

For some reason she stared at him, and he got the impression she was trying to tell him something without just coming out and doing so. Though he waited for a few minutes, gazing back, she remained silent.

_I'm imaging things_, he thought

"Maybe when we find her everything will work out." It seemed like the thing to say even if he wasn't quite convinced.

"Perhaps."

"Can I do anything?"

"I would like to return to work. It was a mistake to stay in my quarters. If I have something to focus on …."

"I understand."

"Thank you."

He gave her a soft smile, one intended to bring comfort rather than suggest joy. Touching her shoulder, to add reassurance, he felt the same sensation he'd felt before – his fingertips buzzed at the contact and his stomach twisted. Slipping his hand away, he flattened his lips and furrowed his brow while she did the same.

"Uhm, I'll see you in the morning."

On his way out, he saw a couple of crewmen strolling in the corridors. Skidding to a halt as the door behind him slipped shut, the two men – Reynolds and Deacon – let their jaws go slack before straightening for their superior officer.

Archer's stomach cringed as he gave a curt nod before striding quickly to his room. When he reached his quarters, he let out a slow breath. The chronometer by his bed, easy to read even from the door, let him know it was already 0510.

_No wonder they were looking at me like …._

"Shit."

---

Trip Tucker swung his long arms down the corridor as he whistled a tune he'd heard eons ago, but couldn't remember the words to. Upgrading systems, using his hands, always made him feel good like he'd done some real work. Although one day he'd like to be in charge of a vessel like Enterprise, he could never imagine all the paperwork associated with it. And guessing by the number of times his captain dropped by engineering to help with repairs, he probably didn't think too much of it either.

As he rounded a bend, he heard his name called. It was T'Pol and she looked like, as his mother would say, something the cat dragged in.

"Commander, may I speak with you?" she asked.

"You bet."

She wandered slightly ahead and made her way to her room. It meant this wasn't a commander-subordinate discussion, it was a personal one.

He usually liked those – personal conversations – but by the concern on her face, he was guessing he wouldn't be real crazy about this one.

After the door slid behind him, he frowned.

"What is it?"

Averting her eyes to the ground, she seemed to take her time in conveying whatever it was that troubled her. He took a step toward her and asked.

"T'Pol?"

"This is difficult to say."

She began pacing, her hands resting at her side rather than behind her back. For a moment, it made him think of the captain.

"What?" he asked.

"I would rather you hear some … distressing news from me, rather than from another source."

"All right," he said. Knitting his eyebrows, he took the liberty of sitting down on her bed.

"Captain Archer and I have a daughter."

It sounded like the beginning of a joke. "Huh?"

"Captain Archer and I have a daughter."

"What do you mean _you and the captain have a daughter_?"

He felt himself rise to his feet.

"I mean exactly that." She continued. "She's six months old, and although neither of us are certain how she was created --"

Drowning out her words, he placed his hands on his hips; the math was starting to add up in a way he didn't like.

He said, "Six months? Weren't you on Vulcan then … with the captain?"

"You believe I was pregnant and delivered the child on Vulcan?"

"Well?"

"That is absurd." Then she tipped her head at him. "Are you jealous?"

"In fact the two of you were there for about a week." He pointed. "And, if I recall, it's when you started pulling back from me and reading your book."

"The Kir'Shara. Yes, you must be jealous." The comment was said more to herself, but he was quick to point out why his pesky emotions included envy.

"Hell, you work with the guy every day, you sat there bawling your eyes out when he left for Azati Prime …."

By the look on her face, he guessed she didn't know he was aware she'd been crying.

"I knew," he said. "Your eyes were all puffy and you practically jumped down my throat when I said--"

"Captain Archer and I have never had a romantic relationship."

"Then how'd you end up with a baby?"

"I told you: neither of us are certain. Perhaps our DNA was taken because --"

"You know, it's not just Azati Prime. You two have had this," he waved his hands emphatically, "_thing _for nearly two years now."

"Thing?"

"Yeah … thing! You moped around for days after we heard the captain had been killed--"

"As I recall, so did you. He's my friend."

"And Malcolm told me you nearly wet your pants when he returned."

"Wet my pants?"

"Figure of speech." He wasn't about to explain the idiom, and he hurled her a frown guessing she knew it wasn't necessarily a gentlemanly thing to say. "Sorry. It's … you and he have become close friends. Sometimes, it seems _closer _than close. A man just gets well …. And now this?"

She sighed. "What do you want me to say?"

"You don't love him."

"I don't."

He nodded. It felt good to hear her say the words, even if he felt small for asking. Shuffling his feet so that one shoe could trace the deck plating, he began to feel even tinier now that reason was settling in. The captain and T'Pol – neither of them would try and hurt him and just a few days ago the Vulcan had planted a kiss on his lips asking him to stay.

_So what gives?_ he thought.

She was right when she said he'd been acting jealous – like a fool. So he walked up to her and tentatively gave her a hug, one he was hoping would bring her comfort. When she stiffened in his arms, he wondered if he'd been a bigger jerk than he'd thought.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"I am as well."

"So, where is the baby?"

"With a group called Terra Prime."

"Terra Prime?"

"Yes."

Worry began to tickle in his stomach and a whole new picture began emerging. The name sounded familiar like a bunch of kook-neo-Nazis.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

"I'm uncertain. Our first order of business is to meet with Admiral Gardner. Perhaps he can help Jonathan and I--"

"Jonathan?"

Her eyes narrowed. "Yes."

Another huff escaped his lips and he hung his head to his chest. "Sorry."

"Maybe we should end the conversation here."

"Nah, I'm just …. I'm sorry. What can I do to help?"

"I don't know. But, if you feel up for it, there is more …."

"More?" _This must be a doozie if she's saving it for last. _Waving his two fingers, he nodded. "All right."

T'Pol licked her lips and then closed in on him a little. "Our bond, yours and mine, has vanished."

He hadn't had any daydreams about her in a while. Shrugging, he tried to give her a sideways smile to reassure, despite cringing inside.

He said, "You said it was a hassle anyway."

T'Pol's lips turned down by mere centimeters. "I feel my daughter's thoughts, and I'm beginning to sense those of someone else."

Trip waited.

"Her father."

He asked, slack-jawed, "The captain?"

"Yes. I had a vision of him the other day, he was looking at his terminal, thinking of our daughter, wondering if she was okay."

"Does he know?"

"I'm not certain."

Shaking his head, he felt queasy as if bile was rushing to his throat. Choking it back, trying not to make her more nervous than she already was, he decided to ask her a question.

"You going to tell him?" he asked.

"I believe he feels it as well." She nodded. "I will bring this up with him tomorrow."

"This has been a lot to take in." He watched her for a second and let his shoulders drop, touching her forearm. "It's been a lot for _you_."

"I debated telling you."

"I'm glad you did. I know this must be rough on you."

Giving the smallest of smiles, he held his arms open, as if to ask if he could embrace her again. She stepped toward him, but not as eagerly as she once would.

"We'll get through this," he said.

The words whispered through his hair and as he wrapped his arms around her tighter, he pondered if the end of their bond meant this was goodbye.

_Don't borrow trouble,_ he thought.

Although T'Pol wasn't the kissy type, she usually initiated any romantic interludes they had, but he felt like she needed something … and truth be told so did he. So, he pressed his lips against her forehead.

Nothing happened.

For the past couple of weeks doing that tingled his mouth, now he just felt the warm skin beneath him. Still, she must've appreciated the gesture, because she touched his cheek briefly.

She said, "Admiral Gardner wants to see the captain and me tomorrow. Apparently, the press already has the information in the news," she said.

"Word gets around fast."

"It does."

"The captain concerned?"

"I believe he is, yes."

For a moment longer he held her and the two remained quiet. After she left his grip, the two chatted – small talk – and then he reasserted he would help her in any way he could and finally left. Walking back to his quarters, a frown overtook his face and the pit of his stomach lurched. Silently, he hoped he wouldn't bump into Archer in the hall.

TBC


	3. Meet the press

A/N: The author's note was in response to a question Arch asked. I apologize if anyone felt it was directed specifically at them.

I'll address something from a previous post: the way Archer acts. I don't think he'd be happy about a child out of nowhere and insist on marrying T'Pol. That seems a bit far-fetched. Why would Archer go on and tell her he loves her and try to form a family right away? I think he would feel the same as any of us: confusion, concern …. He might even feel a sense of irony; he was once bigoted toward Vulcans and now he has one as a daughter.

I don't want to give away the plot, but let's just suffice it to say: no phony baloney stuff here.

As for the whole, "T/T'P bond didn't happen over night" – I kinda disagree, but that's just me. Because they felt the bond more than a year later in one episode to me means: yes, it happened magically and overnight. Again, that's just me.

But, different strokes for different folks.

Now, that that's over, let's just all go back to the story.

--

They'd arrived at spacedock at 1900 hours, earlier than anticipated for a reason: Admiral Gardner had expressed concerned the press would be there, rushing to ask them questions. The area wasn't strictly military meaning they had free access to it. Moving up the time and trying to keep it on the "down low" would ensure that it wouldn't be a media circus when they arrived.

Gardner had been clear about something else, too. Archer and T'Pol were ordered to head straight for Starfleet headquarters, and Jon got the idea that a butt-chewing lay in wait for him when he arrived.

As the captain made his way to the door, he saw T'Pol and Commander Tucker standing by the airlock. At first he'd wanted to argue why his engineer needed to be there, but with a sigh – and no matter what his friend said – he understood. Knowing about their relationship, how his two closest officers and friends felt for each other, he couldn't deny Trip wanting to see this through with them.

"All right," Archer said.

It had cut off a long-winded and heated response from Trip, which he'd already launched into. And with a mark of satisfaction, Trip smiled at T'Pol.

"Starfleet's advised us not to answer any questions," Archer said.

Trip asked, "You can't even tell them it's not true?"

"No." The captain sighed, picking up his buddy's jealousy, and then patted his arm. "Not even a 'no comment.' Admiral Gardner just wants us to get to the shuttle."

T'Pol drew a deep breath and she and Trip waited as he thumbed the release for the door. The moment it began to slide open, a rush of commotion exploded and Archer felt himself freeze.

It may not have been a media circus, but their arrival wasn't on the QT.

Throngs of reporters shouted questions, swarming toward them when a handful of security guards met the Enterprise officers at the airlock door.

"This way, Captain," one guard said.

Jon gripped T'Pol's arm, hoping to protect her – from what he didn't exactly know – leading her through the long corridor and people where a shuttle awaited on the other side. Reporters, shouting out questions, huddled toward them and a fevered pitch of tumult buzzed through the room. Specific questions were yelled out as they passed, and yet most of them seemed from no one in particular.

"Did your relationship really start in the Expanse, Captain?" someone asked.

"T'Pol, what are you going to do about your baby?" another asked.

"Why did you give your daughter up?"

"Did you give birth on Vulcan?"

Archer looked behind him to notice Trip bristle, causing the captain to tighten his fingers around T'Pol's arm hurrying them forward.

_Trip's going to throw a punch_, Archer thought

"Captain, what do you think your father would say about your predicament?"

"What happens to your command now that Starfleet knows?"

"What does the Vulcan High Command think?"

"Do Vulcans believe in having children out of wedlock?"

"Are you thinking of getting married?"

"Is that why you stayed aboard Enterprise, transferring to Starfleet – because of him?"

"What about your drug addiction, Commander. Are those reports true?"

"Has the captain sexually harassed you?"

"Was it rape? Is that why you didn't keep your own child, Commander?"

"Archer, is sex better with a human or a Vulcan?"

"What's the Vulcan libido like? Reports say it's voracious."

"Do Vulcans hypnotize their partners? Is that how she got you to have relations with her?"

"T'Pol, there are reports you were also sleeping with other crewmembers. One newspaper has called you a 'Vulcan whore,' what do you say to that?"

The query made Archer stop in his tracks and scan the room to find the jerk who asked it. When his eyes landed on a skinny white male, donned in a pair of glasses and waving a PADD in his hand, he thought he had his man … especially when the reporter repeated the question thinking it just might be answered.

"No," T'Pol said.

She reached out to grasp the captain's arm, but he ignored her, striding toward his target.

When the reporter was in easy reach, he punched him squarely in the jaw, a right hook, sending the man to the floor. Silence took over the room, slicing through the commotion.

Archer, looming, threw the man a look of disgust and saw with some satisfaction blood trickling down his lip.

And then just as suddenly as the air evaporated in the room, it quickly came alive with the sound of clicking – cameras snapping - and more questions hurled in his direction, screamed.

"How did you feel when he called your girlfriend a whore?"

"Did you hit that reporter in a fit of jealousy?"

"Captain, over here – what would your father say?"

"Are the allegations that she slept with other crewmen true?"

Security scrambled to collect Archer and he realized he lost visual sight of his first officer somewhere in the crowd.

"T'Pol?" Archer asked.

"This way," the security guard said.

"Trip?" Archer asked.

More questions were tossed in their direction, some so disturbing that Archer tired to drown it out. Luckily, it wasn't too difficult a feat, the pounding of his heart and in his head - worried about his friends - made it easy to shut out the noise around him.

"T'Pol!"

"She's in there, sir," a security guard said, pointing to the shuttle.

His head whipped in that direction and he saw her climbing in with Trip right behind her. Although his stomach still tingled nervously for some reason, knowing they were all right filled him mostly with relief. When he entered the shuttle the door began to close right away.

"You all right?" Archer asked. His first glance was over to T'Pol.

"Yes," she said.

"You?" he asked Trip.

"Yeah."

Just as Archer was about to say something, the pilot in the cockpit turned around. The pips on his uniform indicated he was a commander and the patch on his sleeve told them he worked for HQ.

He said, "Commander Tucker, I'm going to have to ask you step out."

Trip shook his head. "I'm seeing this through with them."

The man disagreed. "Sir, Admiral Gardner was specific – we're only transporting Captain Archer and Commander T'Pol. He'll relay orders to you later."

Trip said, "I'd like to talk with the Admiral before--"

T'Pol intervened immediately.

"I will be all right." The words were spoken softly.

"Cap'n?" Trip asked, confusion clearly setting on his face.

"We'll be fine, Trip."

The blonde scratched his head and then jabbed his thumb out the door. "I'm glad you hit that son of a bitch. If you didn't I would've."

Archer wasn't sure he should've smacked anyone, especially now that it gave them something else to print, but toppling the guy to the ground for disrespecting T'Pol made him feel better. Providing a lopsided smile, the captain nodded.

Archer said, "Take care of Enterprise."

"Yes, sir."

Trip exchanged a quick glance with T'Pol, who seemed to be saying more with her eyes and Archer averted his attention for a moment to let whatever was communicated happen in private.

With that, Trip opened the hatch and reporters rallied again thinking they had an opportunity to ask another question. The same security guards that escorted the captain to the shuttle met Trip to help him back. And then the door of the shuttle shut and a loud announcement was made to clear the deck.

The pilot said, "Might as well make yourself comfortable. It's probably going to take a while to clear the area. Damned reporters."

Archer folded himself in half, sitting down on a bench and blew out a long stream of air. When he'd collected himself, and it had taken a minute to clear the anger that nagged at him, he turned his attention to T'Pol.

"I'm sorry about what happened in there," he said.

T'Pol gave a small sigh and frowned. "It is rather distressing."

"Don't take what they said to heart."

"Their questions were rude."

He frowned, too. "Yes, they were."

The bench wiggled for just a second as she sat next to him.

"Is your hand okay?" she asked.

Looking down, he'd been surprised to see his knuckles already bruise. He must've punched the guy a lot harder than he thought.

"Yeah."

Another announcement blasted over the loud speaker to clear the area and the pilot sighed.

"Have you received any additional information from the admiral about our daughter?" T'Pol asked.

Archer frowned. "No."

She nodded, obviously disappointed and the captain noticed his mouth sagged a little more.

"I wish there was something we could do," he said.

"I also wish we could do something. Do we know what will happen when we reach Starfleet?"

Archer lowered his voice to keep it from the pilot. "The fact they asked Trip to leave means they want him in command for the time being."

"You are indicating they may be asking us to stay more than just for a day?"

"Maybe."

Again the announced to clear the shuttle bay boomed overhead and the pilot squirmed in his seat.

The pilot's fidgeting got his attention and for a split second, he thought about incapacitating him and flying down to Earth to find his child. Almost as quickly as it came to him the idea vanished.

T'Pol caught his eye.

"It is too risky," she said. "We should speak with the admiral first."

_She can read me like a book._

"I wasn't going to do it," he whispered. Even if the pilot most likely had no idea what they were discussing, it made sense to speak quietly.

Another announcement came and with some satisfaction the pilot exhaled and turned around.

"Strap yourselves in. We're heading for Earth."

The launch bay doors opened in front of them and the pilot busily contacted various groups to check his flight status before heading out. It was then T'Pol leaned over to the captain and whispered.

"After our meeting with the admiral, I have something important to discuss."

Archer was about to insist they talk about it now, but a headshake met his unasked question. And for some reason, he decided she was probably right.

-----

Admiral Gardner watched Jon and T'Pol, hoping that his stare would elicit a response. But the office was silent, just as it'd been for the past ten minutes -- ever since he asked them to step in.

As an admiral, he found many times when he wanted people to confess a wrongdoing, he simply needed to watch and wait until they squirmed, wiggled in their seat; because they always did when they were guilty. Neither Captain Archer nor T'Pol fidgeted, although neither looked at ease.

_Either I have some damned good liars or …._

He shook his head. It was the oldest story in the book: a captain fell in love with his beautiful first officer on a voyage and before long they had a clandestine affair. This one just resulted in a child, one that somehow got itself kidnapped by some whackos. Whackos who went to the press.

Besides since Enterprise had left, psychologists had predicted that long periods without sexual interaction was difficult for humans if not impossible. Starfleet always knew the men and women aboard Enterprise would dally, but he just hadn't expected it to be the captain and a Vulcan.

"Do you have something to tell me?" Gardner asked.

The two were silent.

"Captain?"

"No, sir," he said.

The admiral strode across the room and then back to stand in front of his officers. Heaving a sigh, the man decided to launch into his questions.

"T'Pol is that your baby?" Gardner said. It was abrupt, more than he'd intended to, but he was tired of pussyfooting around.

"Yes," she said.

_I knew it!_

"Nothing happened between us," Archer said.

_The captain's too quick to add that. _Gardner pointed to the Vulcan. "But, T'Pol just admitted that she was the mother."

"We were unaware of the child's existence," T'Pol said.

"I know you two were in the Expanse and I'm sure things happened, but--"

T'Pol said, "I have never been pregnant."

Hawkish, he peered down his nose at her and watched her sit still almost too afraid to ask what Vulcan births were like, thinking perhaps her comment was more a remark on her biology. Snorting the thought away, he watched the tortured look on Archer's face and decided to work on him.

"We know you're the father, Jon," Gardner said.

"It's not what you think," he said.

_Yeah. _"I've ordered an investigation into your case, Captain," Gardner said. "The media is hounding me for your story and --"

"There is no story," Archer said.

Gardner said, "Unless I start hearing some answers I believe, I'm going to have to do something drastic. Maybe even charge you with fraternization."

"We're telling you the truth," Archer said. "We're just as surprised," he gave a sideways glance at T'Pol and then corrected his statement. "We're _more_ surprised than you."

"Did you sleep with your first officer?" Gardner asked.

"No."

T'Pol added a few words. "We have never been involved."

Gardner frowned. "Until we get this all sorted out, I'm taking the two of you off Enterprise and giving command to Charles Tucker III. This issue is like dynamite! And with Minister Samuels looking to conduct a meeting with the alien delegates--"

"Delegates that Enterprise has helped secure," T'Pol said.

The admiral shook his head. "Commander, you know I approve of the work Enterprise has done. But this thing between you and your commanding officer--"

T'Pol spoke with near-indignation, a real shocker coming from a Vulcan.

"Everything that Captain Archer said has been accurate. Neither of us have engaged in sexual relations with each other. Neither of us knew the child's existence until you contacted me two days ago."

Gardner loomed over the woman and crossed his arms. "You never explained why you joined Enterprise in the Expanse, T'Pol. And Jon pulled a lot of strings to keep you aboard that ship. Media says that looks suspicious, and … I have to agree."

Before either could object, he raised a hand to hush them. When both clamped their mouth shut, he gave a satisfied half-smile and explained they had a couple of days in Starfleet-assigned quarters until it was all sorted out.

Archer and T'Pol exchanged a quick glance.

Gardner said, "We've got pressure from all sides that think that men and women serving together is one giant mistake and that T'Pol shouldn't have been accepted into Starfleet. Hell, there's even speculation that Vulcan women have some sort of pheromone that attracts men."

"I believe they are talking about the Orions," T'Pol said.

"Taking us off Enterprise won't help the--" Archer said.

"That's final. Let's just investigate this and wait for the controversy to die down." Gardner continued. "And hell, I can't blame the press. I mean, shit, I've been on long assignments, too. A man can get lonely. You've been out there a long time, both of you."

With a flick of his thumb, nudging a button on his desk, security officers marched in.

Gardner pointed to the people in his office. "I'd like you to take them to E-Wing. They should have some rooms for them."

Giving one last look, he observed neither hung their head. Instead, Archer looked indignant with a scowl covering his face and his jaw clenched. T'Pol's eyes had narrowed and even her placid expression held a trace of contempt.

_Hell, maybe they are innocent._

"Go ahead and take them," Gardner said.

The guards, weapons drawn, escorted the officers out and down the hall – their feet smacking on the linoleum. Turning to his monitor, he pulled up the headline for _News of the World_ one more time – with Starfleet pictures of his two officers – and cringed.

_Affair During the Expanse Yields Love Child_

How the press got the photos from Starfleet, Gardner would never know, but he wanted that to be part of the investigation. Just like he was bound to call on Commander Tucker to see exactly what happened between his two senior officers.

_What a way to start my day,_ Gardner thought, looking at his watch.

It was only ten o'clock.

TBC


	4. Imprisoned and postponed

A/N: Patrick, thanks for your review. I'll try to answer your questions.

You said: Oh, does that mean you skipped watching the entire 4th season?

Me: No. Watched many of them at least twice. :-)

You: I ask because EVERY episode in 4th season, even the MirrorVerse ones, had a bit of the T/T'P bond story line running in it. Yes that includes that final insult TATV.

Me: Not a "bond." I think we first saw the bond in the Klingon arc, a year after Trip and T'Pol slept together that one time. If you mean bond as in connection – friendship with a little yearning especially on Trip's part – I would agree.

You mention the MU. I've always been surprised people Trip/T'Polers like it. T'Pol had power over Trip and used him; it wasn't love … at least it didn't seem that way. T'Pol used Trip. Giving a similar scenario, Hoshi had power over Archer and used him as well. Just because Hoshi slept with Archer certainly didn't mean they were in love or had a bond.

You: I like your view of StarFleet Brass's reaction to the child. Much better that in the real episode.

Me: Sorry, that wasn't a question, but I wanted an opportunity to thank you.

You: I tend to think people who WANT the whole A/T'P relationship thing to work are those who strongly identify with Archer as the Alpha Male and expect the woman to be drawn to the Alpha male.

Me: I don't so much like "alpha males." My favorite character in TOS was Spock, not Kirk. My favorite character in TNG was Data, not Picard. I like Jayne better than Mal Reynolds from Firefly.

So why Archer/T'Pol? I like a relationship of equals. Maybe you have a point about Archer being the alpha male on Enterprise, but I think both he and T'Pol are the alphas - equals. People tend to marry folks who have common interests (which I think Archer and T'Pol have), the same intelligence (which I think Archer and T'Pol have), about the same comeliness (which I think Archer and T'Pol has). Equality.

Now, on with the story!

---

Archer found himself pacing inside the room Starfleet had given him. The stale scent of Lysol clung to his nostrils, gagging him with its overly lemon aroma. The blue carpet and whiter than white walls, with no windows, the lack of paintings or anything to made the place seem more like a prison cell than a residency. At least, it would've seemed that way, but he knew dignitaries that needed security protection were taken here.

Not that he thought he was a dignitary, but he was starting to realize he and T'Pol may need to be safeguarded. If the media's clamoring was any indication, they had a lot to be protected from.

_Well, no window, but it could be worse._

The living room was spacious enough and it led to three other doors: two bedrooms and one bathroom. The bedrooms were utterly nondescript, reeking of the same Lysol spray, and the bathroom was a dull white. Crisp white towels tackily displayed the Starfleet logo.

His steps halted for a moment.

_A suite? Admiral Gardner gave us a suite._

Apparently, for all the trouble they'd caused, the admiral had placed the two of them together – a suite, not two connected rooms.

_Yeah, the admiral thinks we are sleeping together._

Not that he really cared. What he _did _care about was what the hell was happening to his child. His daughter. And he'd be damned if he'd sit around like some bump on a log accepting his fate. The only problem was – how to escape a top security Starfleet room.

When his toe swerved on the plush rug, and he headed to the other side of the living room, T'Pol spoke up.

"You are wearing a hole in it."

"Sorry, nervous habit," he said.

The remark caused her to rise.

"I know what you're thinking," she said. "You believe there is some way we can leave this facility and look for our daughter."

That stopped him.

T'Pol nodded. "I know." Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath. "Just as I knew your intentions with the pilot in the shuttle. Just as I know the lack of a window here _bothers_ you."

_We must be spending a little too much time together,_ he thought.

"I am able to feel your emotions and hear some of your thoughts."

He was speechless.

"Jonathan, because of our daughter … I believe you and I have a bond."

An odd tingling in his stomach sputtered and he sat down on the couch that T'Pol just left. The twisting of his guts had been happening a lot lately – a sinking feeling. He'd chalked it up to his own anxiety, but now he was starting to wonder.

"How?"

"I am unsure myself." Sitting next to him, she looked over her hands and folded them together. "I believe we have a link because of our child … because of me."

"Why?"

T'Pol raised her eyebrows, a look he'd seen a million times before. "On Vulcan even if two are caught in the fires of Pon Farr, if a child is created …."

Squirming, he contradicted her. "But, we never--"

"No, but the family feels that link – the mother and the father. Perhaps I connect you to our daughter."

"Why after all this time?"

"I am uncertain. Perhaps she is gaining awareness?"

Nodding, he let out a sigh and leaned his head against the couch.

"You can feel some of my thoughts and emotions?" she asked.

"I don't know." Then he glanced at her. "It distresses you?"

"It is the least of my concerns," she said. As if looking to explain herself, she shook her head. "I wanted to ensure I am not projecting them onto you."

He supposed if T'Pol had, he'd be a wreck instead of having what felt like an occasional feeling of jitters.

"No. Not anything specific," he said. "You can hear _many _of my thoughts, not just a few. Can't you?" he asked.

"Your mind is untrained in the art of--"

"I'll take that for a 'yes.'" New worries appeared. _Is she able to hear my occasional mind chatter? Or was it more pervasive? _

He pondered if she could dig into the depths of his thoughts and pull at memories that lay dormant – his father's death; sins committed; the hatred he once felt for her and her people; a long ago fantasy where the two of them were naked in Decon, kissing ….

_Great, now she probably knows about that, too._

"I have no intension of intruding on your thoughts," she said. "Vulcans consider this an invasion of privacy."

His jaw clenched.

She said, "I do not _seek _your thoughts and I am able to shield many of them from me."

"Shield?"

"The Vulcan mind has defenses – ways in which we protect ourselves from psionic attack. Although the art is new to me, I can deflect thoughts from your mind, like a shield."

"I didn't know you knew this."

"I learned it from the Kir'Shara. I began studying the technique after realizing my bond with Trip."

"You used a shield with Trip?"

"Yes, but … it is more difficult to shield your thoughts. Perhaps because of our daughter, _our _link is stronger."

When he blinked, still trying to determine exactly how to process this information, he heard her voice soften even more.

"I would never harm you. Whatever thoughts I glean will be between us."

"I trust you." Nodding, he swallowed. "How long have you known about our link?"

"A few days." Withering a little under his glare, she added a few words. "I couldn't find an appropriate time to tell you."

That wasn't quite right. She was afraid.

And his heart raced for only seconds until it slowed to its normal, steady beat.

She said, "I knew it would be a difficult conversation. I know how much your privacy means to you."

"Well, this can't be a cakewalk for you either." Getting up, he decided to pace anyway. "And it's not like either of us have a lot of privacy these days."

"No."

Although the idea of sharing his mind with T'Pol bugged him, he decided there wasn't much he could do; getting angry with her surely wouldn't help, particularly since it wasn't her fault. Besides, there was more important matters, more distressing, to focus on. Their daughter.

A warm tickle spread up his spine, something as genuine as a light hug or a shoulder squeeze and he turned to look at his friend guessing it was from her.

"Let's find a way to get the hell out of here."

---

Soval watched his terminal with a perched brow. The news was certainly astonishing, not that he would ever admit it – the captain of the Enterprise and his first officer were having an affair, one that caused the creation of a child.

There were eyewitness accounts from two un-named crewmen aboard Enterprise who'd claimed the captain was seen leaving T'Pol's quarters in the wee hours of the morning, rumpled. They claimed to have even seen T'Pol barely wearing anything as he slipped from her quarters.

There were reports that Enterprise had a cargo bay full of trellium, a protective seal needed to traverse the Expanse, but the captain hadn't lined his ship because of his science officer … information that hadn't come to light in Soval's investigation of the Selaya. The news agencies had surfaced the countless times Archer risked his life to save her, including a careless attempt he personally made to free her from an Orion slave depot that put him in peril. T'Pol, apparently, had been equally guilty. After Archer had been captured by the Xindi – presumed dead – she had insisted on following him to rescue him.

Interspecies relations. It was an inevitable. With socializing came sometimes (to some species) feelings -- ones that eventually led to procreation and life. Why the humans would find the news so distressing was beyond him.

_Interspecies relations is logical._

Tapping his fingers on his terminal, he read through another story.

_Perhaps the humans enjoy the scandal: an honest man, a pillar of the community – hero of the Expanse - impregnated an alien woman._

_Hardly a scandal. Alien women are impregnated all the time. _

Standing, the Vulcan placed his hands behind his back and strolled to the window of his office, staring at the circular courtyard below. A fountain splashed there – an enormous one with people gathered at its base to eat their lunch while a child played in the concrete bathtub that contained the water.

_However pleasant, it is a waste of water. Vulcans would never treat water so carelessly. _

And yet he stared at it, understanding human's fascination with them. The spray of water, a mere reminder of the oceans roar, created tranquility and calm. The mist, the liquid's dance was mesmerizing – single droplets sprang into life flowing with their brethren until they evaporated into the air or rejoined their siblings in the pool.

Gazing on this water feature is when Soval did his best thinking.

_Were Archer and T'Pol intimate?_

That certainly would explain things: why she left the Vulcan High Command and why she seemed so loyal to a human. He knew the captain was a passionate man, seeing him filled with rage at the mere mention of the Selaya and having witnessed sadness at the death of Admiral Forrest.

Although he knew these to be true, he didn't believe this child was a product of their fornication. He had absolutely no evidence and no other theories. In fact the evidence against them was certainly incriminating.

_Why would I ignore logic? _

_Because I know them._

The captain was indeed an honorable man, not someone who would take advantage of his position. And T'Pol was, despite being more emotionally charged than other Vulcans, too smart to become ensnared in a shipboard romance.

_Perhaps he helped through Pon Farr. That is certainly logical._

At least, he believed, it was worth a well-placed call to Dr. Phlox.

_Even if this is the case, I cannot divulge centuries of Vulcan tradition to off-worlders, no matter how much I like them. No matter how it may help one single life. The needs of the many …._

Pon Farr was a logical conclusion for the creation of a child; yet, it did not explain why she would give away her child.

Fact: no one had seen a child aboard Enterprise. Fact: when he last saw T'Pol, before she left for the Forge, she had not seemed pregnant despite the reality that Vulcan women remained petite even when carrying young.

Ergo: if she wasn't pregnant and didn't have a child, she could not give it away.

His feet carried him to his desk and his index finger pressed the comm. Just as he was about to open his mouth, he heard a knock at his door.

"Yes?"

His aide, a Vulcan in his mid-forties, walked in. "Ambassador, the talk with Minister Samuel tomorrow morning have been postponed."

"Why?"

"There are concerns for our safety."

The gray-haired Vulcan titled his head. "I do not understand."

"Admiral Gardner sent word – a riot has started in Sausalito."

"The compound?" Soval asked.

"Yes."

"Are there injuries?"

"Unknown."

The Vulcan ambassador folded his arms across his chest and closed his eyes. He'd been wrong when he'd said Earthers weren't ready to explore the sky, but the overreaction to the child of a human and a Vulcan was more than a tad troublesome.

"Storkin, I would like for us to launch our own investigation into the child of Archer and T'Pol."

"An investigation into a _Starfleet_ matter?" the aide asked. The slope of his eyebrow indicated he couldn't believe what was being suggested.

"You heard me correctly. I would like to start by asking Dr. Phlox a few questions. Contact him as soon as possible and let me know when you do so."

The aide nodded and left. Soval turned back to the window and stared out of it.

_Yes, human and Vulcan sexual relations seem inevitable, for though Vulcans are emotionless, humans intrigue us. _

Curiosity, being intrigued, was the one emotion his species could not ignore.

TBC


	5. Paxton is pleased

A/N: Thanks for all the reviews guys! Glad folks liked Soval's part in the drama. Continue to provide input on what's working and not working for ya.

---

The facility was quiet; only the hum of the air supply reverberating off the metal walls sounded in the control room. Although the moon didn't have quite the same amount of sunlight – making the difference between day and night more subtle than on Earth – humans stuck to habits of sleeping during what Earth deemed night. Paxton couldn't sleep, he usually had problems doing so anyway, but tonight his insomnia was due to delight and excitement.

_My plan is working, _he thought.

Paxton inspected his terminal with sheer glee. The headlines were more outrageous and salacious than he could've imagined, nay dreamed.

The _Boston Globe _had an in depth story covering the lurid affair between a starman and an alien. In it, the news organization tried to dive into the psychology behind the relationship and produced "nuggets" that made him laugh out loud.

"Jonathan Archer has been around Vulcans all his life, thanks to his famous father's work. It, a longing to be intimate with one of them, must've taken root at a young age, possibly when his father was working with female Vulcan scientists in the engineering lab. And being on a starship, alone an in space with T'Pol – a beautiful woman and one who's readily available - must've been too much for him to resist. So he committed the act, luxuriating in it."

The BBC made the information more of a love story: good-looking captain out to save his planet with a beautiful alien at his side, facing the possibility of Earth's extinction. They'd supposed the two decided to get rid of their baby because of the harsh treatment they would receive from Starfleet. In fact, they'd reported that Jon (they called him by his nickname – as if familiar with him) and T'Pol were held there now as prisoners.

Vulcan's own planet had managed to carry information, dull as dirt to read, about the conjecture on Earth about T'Pol and Captain Archer. They also did a piece on the riot, which made humans seem like outrageous barbarians.

Paxton didn't mind.

_Perhaps it'll keep those pointy-eared creatures off of my planet_, he thought.

_Le Monde_ focused on the incident where the captain punched a reporter. As a side note, they witnessed the Vulcan had tried to stop him, but "in a fit of jealous rage Archer had sullied ahead to deal a blow, sending the man to the ground."

Perusing the news, he finally stopped on the one agency, the _New York Times_; they managed to produce exactly what he wanted to see: "Should aliens and humans intermingle?" In it, they had an expose on how several incidents had caused a disruption to humans – the Xindi attack being the most prominent. Other problems surfaced: the Vulcans preventing from providing mankind technology; Enterprise's run ins with various aliens and their reaction against us, particularly aliens who placed a bounty on Archer's head; and the racism and backlash against various aliens because of the Xindi attack. The news organization asked Vulcans, humans, Denobulans and the few Andorians who managed to make Earth their home questions about the humans and this paranoia. And the bias that came out was that perhaps mankind wasn't ready for interspecies relations of almost any kind.

That put a smile on Paxton's face. Yielding a purring laugh, he tapped his thumb on a button, asking for one of his oldest friends and the man serving as his communications liaison: Watson.

The terminal focused in on Watson's black face and white smile.

Paxton said, "I think we're ready to go to the media. I think they may now be interested in our story."

Watson said, "You mean _my_ story?"

Paxton's eyes twinkled. His friend would indeed be the one delivering the news, so in fact it would be his.

"Yes, of course. Just don't forget the pictures."

Watson said, "You don't think Starfleet will tell the media we kidnapped the kid?"

Paxton corrected him. "We didn't kidnap Abomi. We created it. It belongs to us. But, they don't know that, otherwise Starfleet would've already mentioned that already."

Watson nodded. "I'll contact my friend in Seattle."

"Good." Paxton added a few words. "As long as we keep it in the news."

The black man nodded and the image faded away. Paxton put his feet up on his desk and decided to spend the rest of the evening entertaining himself by reading the other news.

_Really the information they've been publishing – they have no idea._

Sleep would just have to wait. Protecting Earth from further alien intrusion was really the most important thing right now. So he read the articles he'd already perused again. And that made him smile.

---

In a panic, T'Pol tore out the door to the room they were in.

"Please, you must help me," she said.

There were three guards, men probably given orders to ensure she and the captain remained in their room, who intercepted her right away. They wore Starfleet uniforms, jumpsuits as the crew of Enterprise wore, except they had nametags over their left breast.

"Please," she said.

"Back up," said the tallest guard.

She glanced at his nametag: Lt. Travers.

Stepping carefully backwards, with her hands slightly raised to show she had no ill will, she clarified her intent.

"Captain Archer is ill."

The guards all frowned at each other and one, a stocky man – Lt. Commander Parnell, nodded.

"All right."

With his gun pointed back, he encouraged T'Pol to walk ahead of them, her hands slowly raised. Behind her, she heard the men tread cautiously into the room, checking around corners and behind the door.

"Turn around," Parnell said.

She did, just in time to see the man nudge Archer with his foot. When the captain didn't react, the man kneeled down.

"Keep an eye on her," Parnell said.

T'Pol saw the pistols pointed against more ardently as if warning her against any movement while the stocky guard placed two fingers against Archer's neck. With a furrowed brow, the guard stood.

Parnell said, "Something _is _wrong with him. His heartbeat is erratic."

"Please, get a doctor," T'Pol said.

He agreed, and then ordered Lt. Travers to call in the medical team. The tall guard slipped out of her eyesight and she turned her attention on the captain.

When Travers entered the room, he reinforced what she already knew – thanks to a medical base located on Starfleet premises.

"They'll arrive any minute," Travers said.

"Thank you," she said.

Ensign Jackson, the one who'd remained silent, produced a small smile.

He said, "Don't worry, your boyfriend will be okay."

Parnell cast a glare in his direction. "Ensign, can it with the small talk. She's your commanding officer, no matter how you feel about this case. You got that?"

Jackson said, "Yes, sir."

Parnell shrugged. "Sorry, ma'am."

"I understand." Then with a slightly quipped brow, she asked a question. "You still believe I will want to escape?"

"No," Parnell said. "But, Admiral Gardner asked to make sure you two don't leave until we get this case sorted out."

"I see." Her eyes darted to her fallen captain and then met Parnell's. "May I?"

The stocky man sagged his shoulders and weakly gave his approval. With that, T'Pol walked over to her friend and squatted near him. Checking his pulse herself, she noticed it was indeed erratic, although beating strong.

"Told you were they were boyfriend and girlfriend," said Ensign Jackson.

It was low and out of most human's range, but she heard it. And rather than correct him, she remained silent, caressing the hollow of Archer's cheek. It was a feather touch, but one she hoped would both be soothing enough to calm his heart and maybe urge him to consciousness.

When the medical staff arrived – one man and one woman, they placed Archer on a gurney and wheeled him out, speeding, from the complex toward a shuttle only twenty feet away. As she suspected a few reporters lay in wait, just outside the building, hoping to ask a few last minute questions as Archer's body was loaded into the back of the medic shuttle.

"We'll be there in no time," the female paramedic said to T'Pol.

Parnell sat down next to her, making the shuttle more crowded.

He apologized. "I'm sorry, I need to come. It's protocol."

She said, "Of course."

The Vulcan noted the pilot, a young man in his mid-twenties, who seemed fairly new to the lifestyle; his white knuckles gripping the controls gave him away. The shuttle lurched forward and began zipping to the facility.

Only after the two medics in the back began to swirl around her commanding officer, splaying open his uniform to inject him with a compound, she made her move.

_Otherwise they'll kill him._

Without hesitation, she leaned over to the guard, as if to ask a question and snaked her hand around his shoulder to pinch it – the Vulcan neck pinch incapacitated him. When he slumped quickly against the metal wall of the craft, she grabbed the weapon from his unconscious hand and immediately thrust it forward toward the medics.

Inside T'Pol's mind, she let loose a scream – it was long and loud, louder than she imagined her voice could carry and the result sparked Archer to life. Archer's body sat up, taking his first breath of conscious air. And although he seemed confused, she knew he was all right.

"I suggest none of you move," T'Pol said.

The weapon was leveled at the male, the medic who looked as if he may attack.

Archer said, his voice hoarse, "I take it the plan worked."

"Almost flawlessly."

"Almost?"

"If I had not used our bond to awaken you, we would not have been successful."

"How long was I out?"

"Approximately two hours and ten minutes."

She sent a warm tingle, the equivalent of a light touch on his shoulder, through her bond, and she was able to sense he felt it; the lopsided grin he produced gave her evidence.

Wincing, he rolled his shoulders forward a few times.

He said, "The neck pinch hurts more than I thought."

"I did warn you …."

He responded with a smile. "Yes, you did."

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the pilot pick up his communication device when she intercepted, leveling her gun at him. 

"I advise not contacting anyone and flying to the following coordinates: 2.1.0 mark 5."

"You're going to kill me?" the pilot asked.

"No. However, I would like to abscond with your vehicle," she said.

She felt Archer's grin widen and heard the thoughts that came to his mind clearly.

_That's my girl._

---

Trip Tucker was about to be hogtied. After pacing in the Ready Room, at least twice, he finally got the message he'd been expecting.

"Sir, Admiral Gardner is contacting you," Hoshi said via the intercom.

"Put him though."

A man with almost Italian features – a strong jaw and a dark beard – appeared and the monitor, and the sight of his boss' superior on the terminal made Trip slouch rather than straighten.

Gardner was a real piece of work.

He was the guy, one of the flyboys back during the test program, who made being an engineer hell. Instead of knowing the components, like Archer, the guy'd squawk about one thing or another pointing to parts as if he could identify him. Sometimes people received promotions, undeserved ones; Gardner was one of them. As proof, the boys back in Engineering had a nickname for the guy, behind his back of course: The Drip. Trip found it hard to remember exactly why they'd done so, but recalls someone tying "Garden Hose" which lead mischievously to "Drip."

The Drip stuck.

"Thank you, Commander," said Gardner.

"What can I do for ya?"

"I have to ask you some questions, some personal ones, that you are under orders to answer accurately."

Trip nodded.

"Have your CO and your XO ever had a relationship?"

"Yeah, they're friends."

"I mean a _physical _relationship." The man in his fifties seemed to frown and then clarified further when Trip didn't offer any info. "Sex."

"I haven't known them to be intimate." Trip squirmed. "I don't think they were having sex."

"Did Captain Archer have a cargo bay full of trellium that remained unused because she wouldn't be able to tolerate it … trellium that would've protected Enterprise in your mission to destroy the Xindi weapon?"

"Well, sure, but--"

"Did Commander T'Pol offer to save the captain when he set course for Azati Prime?"

"Yeah, but--"

"Commander, did you remind T'Pol of her duty to her ship and crew? Did you remind her that during battle, the commander should not leave the ship?"

"I did. But, we were all worried about the captain. I mean, it's --"

"So, all of this is true, and you're telling me you never wondered … never considered the idea that they were in a relationship? A romantic one?"

Trip swallowed. The Admiral had asked him to be accurate, but suddenly he felt that he didn't want to _entirely _honest. If truth be told, before they entered the Expanse and at various intervals during their mission, he _did _wonder.

_But not now,_ he reminded himself.

"Commander?" Gardner asked again.

"Nah. I mean … I know there weren't feelings other than friendship." The Southerner felt a little bold and decided to come clean. "Sir, I can say this because … it wasn't the captain that had a relationship with her. It was me."

Gardner stared at the screen for a few seconds and then his face gave way to a large frown.

"You?" he asked.

Trip agreed. "Yes, sir."

"You and the captain have been friends a long time." The man shook his head. "I think it's noble for you to protect him, Tucker, but this is serious business. We _know_ Archer's the father of that baby."

Trip was about to explain, but the admiral cut him off.

Gardner said, "I'd like your communications officer to download Captain Archer's and Commander T'Pol's personal logs and give them to me. I'd like to receive it by morning."

Trip knew Ensign Sato could do it. "I don't know--"

The Drip didn't give him a chance to negotiate.

"I'll talk with you again tomorrow."

And then the connection faded to black. Trip didn't even get a chance to say "yes, sir." With a sigh, the engineer left the Ready Room and scanned the bridge.

By now, word had already made the rounds a few times, thanks to the grapevine, that the captain and T'Pol were in a _liaison_. It's why Malcolm had a grimace on his face, one marred with confusion; the Brit held high expectations for his captain and the news was like kicking the stool out from under him. Trip had tried to explain, and Reed spent a lot of time nodding his head, but the guy still looked like he'd taken it in the gut. Trip had heard rumblings around the ship, despite telling crewmen to "mind their damned business" without much success.

_People will talk. That's just a fact of life. _

There was _one _bright side: at least he could give orders without tiptoeing around the problem.

"Hoshi, Admiral Gardner wants you to download Captain Archer's and T'Pol's personal logs by morning."

The woman knitted her brow and scrunched up the side of her face with disgust, while crossing her arms.

She asked, "Aren't those called 'personal logs' for a reason?"

Trip found himself quoting Starfleet text, which he hated.

"The captain and T'Pol recorded them using Starfleet equipment. So, it belongs to Starfleet."

Hoshi blew out a sigh, the kind Tucker felt was bubbling inside him, and then slipped out of her chair. Just as she was about to whiz past him, he caught her arm.

"I don't like this either, but _I _think it'll help clear them." Trip turned to level his gaze at Malcolm. "They didn't do anything wrong. And whatever we can do to help should suffice."

Reed's eyes fell back on his console, brooding and mulling it over, while Hoshi relaxed at the information. She took a few strides toward the door and said under her breath, something Trip picked up, a few words.

"I hope you're right," she said.

_Me, too, _Trip thought_. Me, too._

TBC


	6. Personal log

Phlox was grinning wildly at the larong – a black, furry insect found on the Vega colony which had venom, a mild toxin, that would cure migraines. The little creature gathered a nest in its cage – a sign that it had successfully mated.

The good doctor enjoyed this. Although some accused him of having a strange predilection with others' mating rituals, the real joy – one he learned while cradling Sim in his arms as well as all his children – was seeing life. The cry of a newborn and the satisfied glow of two parents. A child suckling on its mother, or father (depending on the species) -- that was his passion. Birth. Life. It's why he became a doctor instead of a tattoo artist as his mother had suggested.

The musings came to a halt as he dangled his fingers in the top of the cage, holding out a leaf of lettuce for the creature, watching it leap to wrestle it from his fingers. A strange purr came from the larong and Phlox gave an overextended smile.

"You'll need all the vegetables you can eat to lay your eggs."

Suddenly a call rang out for him and he crossed his medical facility to answer the intercom.

"Yes, this is Dr. Phlox."

"You have someone who'd like to speak with you," Hoshi said. "Want me to send it to your terminal?"

"Of course."

Cheerily, he waddled to the device and flipped a switch until a face, a familiar one, filled the screen. Soval.

"Ambassador! Well, this is certainly an unexpected surprise," Phlox said. Before he could chortle out anything else, the Vulcan interrupted.

"It is agreeable to see you again, Doctor." Phlox was about to respond enthusiastically, when Soval continued. "I am contacting you on official business."

"Oh?"

"Yes. I have authorized an investigation into allegations about Captain Archer and Commander T'Pol."

_Really? _"I've already spoken with Starfleet, and I believe that information is available to you for--"

"I sensitive questions, and I would like you to divulge the information."

"It depends on what the information is."

"Has T'Pol entered Pon Farr recently?"

The question was enough to wipe the overextended smile off the Denobulan's face. Squirming, he remembered all too vividly when she had nearly two years ago mated unwillingly with him. To a Denobulan male's sensibilities, it was embarrassing.

Soval said, "Has T'Pol entered the mating cycle in the past year and six months?"

_Enough time for the gestation of the child I've heard rumors about – the one that apparently T'Pol and Captain Archer have._

Phlox said, "No."

"When was the last medical check up you performed on T'Pol?" Soval asked.

The last one was nearly six months ago where he provided her final treatments to combat her trellium addiction. Conflicted, he decided it best to completely avoid that line of questioning, pleading his conscience.

Phlox said, "That is confidential information."

Phlox noticed the Vulcan's mouth turned down by mere centimeters.

Soval asked, "Then may I ask you whether you observed T'Pol to be pregnant during that time?"

"As I told Starfleet: the answer is no."

"Have you ever witnessed a Vulcan pregnancy?"

"No."

"Then how do you know when a Vulcan is pregnant?"

Phlox leaned in, his voice losing its mirth. "I am a medical doctor. I _know_ when a woman is with child."

"Logical," Soval said. "Then I will ask your opinion – why is there a child with T'Pol's DNA?"

"I haven't the faintest idea. I suppose it's possible that someone could've stolen it from her."

"Do you think that likely?" Soval asked. "I read reports from your time in the Expanse; it took you two years to perfect the ability for a Vulcan and human to viably reproduce."

"It did, but … perhaps someone else was able to do it sooner using stolen hairs from her brush, material from her toothbrush …."

"That is considered illegal."

Phlox crossed his arms losing a little patience with the Vulcan. "Humans sometimes commit felonies."

Soval remained quiet for a moment, and then leaned back in his chair pensively.

The Vulcan said, "Starfleet has remained curiously silent about the child's whereabouts."

"Do they know? The rumors I'd heard indicated that pictures had been sent, but nothing else."

"The child's whereabouts are unknown."

"You don't think the captain and Commander T'Pol entered a relationship," Phlox said. It was rather a relief; having the Vulcan agree suddenly made that option that the two were innocent more plausible.

"I have my doubts," Soval said. "Tell me, have you witnessed behavior between the two that may imply they are romantically involved? Or, have they confessed their attraction to each other?"

Phlox paused and then frowned immensely. Behavior between the two was wrought with what he'd deem, with his psychology background, sexual tension. He knew Archer at one time had harbored feelings of attraction for T'Pol, but that was many years ago. Besides, T'Pol had shown obvious interest in Commander Tucker; it was the reason the Vulcan had illogically decided to inject herself with trellium three times a day.

"Sexual tension and attraction naturally develops when people of the opposite sex work so closely together. However, I doubt the captain would allow anything to develop."

"Why?"

Phlox said, "Because we had that discussion."

An eyebrow suddenly shot up and the Vulcan leaned in. "You and Captain Archer discussed his feelings for T'Pol?"

The doctor's face gave way to a decided frown. _That slip came too easily. _"That is confidential information."

Soval created a temple with his fingers and slid them under his chin. "If the captain had feelings perhaps he acted on --"

"No," Phlox said. "I'd stake my reputation on it."

Soval nodded. "You have proved helpful."

"What happens next?"

The Vulcan remained quiet for a second, as if thinking about his response. "We try to find the location of this child and wait for more information to surface."

"Let me know if I can help."

"Of course."

The image faded, a little too abruptly for Phlox's liking, but he'd already accepted the Vulcan's mysterious nature and lack of social skills a long time ago. Wondering exactly what Soval planned to do, he decided to take the information to Commander Tucker.

---

Right after dropping off the two paramedics, the pilot and the guard, Archer used the engineering skills his father taught him to dismantle the tracking device while T'Pol flew the shuttle. It was absolutely imperative to disconnect it so that Starfleet wouldn't be able to discern their whereabouts. When that was completed, Archer took over as T'Pol called up information on the ship-computer to try and determine where their daughter was located.

The buzzing, warmth – like a full meal - filled his stomach and every nerve tingled until goose bumps sprouted on his arm. A shiver ran down his back and he wiggled as if ticklish to it.

Fixating on the cause of that sensation, his eyes fell on T'Pol.

"You found her?" he asked.

"No," she said. "I could tell your shoulder and neck still pained you so I hoped to provide some relief. It's a relaxation technique."

Letting his face give way to somewhere between a frown and a smile, he nodded.

She said, "I apologize for taking the initiative to--"

"It's all right." He could feel her eyes still on him; she questioned his remark.

He thought, _I guess you can't lie to someone who can tell what's inside your head. Although I'm sure she already knows what's bugging me._

He said, "It's just … uncomfortable."

The bond. It left him feeling vulnerable. Naked. Worse, there was intimacy in the bond, like staring into someone's eyes after you'd made love and talking in whispers before falling asleep.

And yet, there was friendship, the deepest kind – one that ran between best friends who hadn't seen each other in years. Loyalty. Trust. Dedication. Admiration. Joy.

It was confusing.

Gazing into T'Pol's eyes, he'd reminded himself that he'd already agreed to accept it was perplexing and move on.

Archer said, "Let's just find her."

With a nod, she flicked her fingers against the keyboard.

"It was also just as puzzling for Trip and me," she said.

He did a double take. "How did you…?"

"I don't know if we ever resolved that confusion." With that, the Vulcan focused back on the computer.

"You know, that's another thing that feels … uncomfortable. Coming between you and Trip."

"It was not of your choosing," T'Pol said.

"No." _It wasn't of yours either. _He sighed. "Listen, after we find her, I think you two should continue your relationship. I don't want to be in the way of your happiness and think--"

As if distracted, the Vulcan suddenly tapped her fingers quickly against the surface of the keyboard and leaned in.

"You got something?" he asked.

"Perhaps," she said.

Unstrapping herself from the seat in the cockpit, she climbed into the back. Although Archer couldn't see behind him, he heard panels open.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

T'Pol's voice sounded nearly gleeful and as she said the words Archer felt his heart grow lighter.

"The medical vehicle we have stolen has scanners that I can alter to detect a mixture of human and Vulcan DNA."

"How much time will that take?"

"Approximately an hour. Can you evade the authorities for that long?"

Archer punched a few buttons and noted that no one was following, at least not yet. When he and T'Pol had hatched this plan, they both knew procedures well enough to plan that Starfleet would know about the stolen vehicle within thirty minutes. Thirty. He'd have to buy them a little time.

There was one place where the magnetics would interfere with them locating the shuttle while T'Pol fixed the medical equipment and they determined their next steps, but it seemed like a long shot.

"The poles?" T'Pol asked.

"We could set down in the Artic while you work on the shuttle."

"Do you think Starfleet would look there?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I don't think so. But, if we get a head's start--"

"Yes."

A tingle ran down his spine again, as if she approved of the idea and he immediately began setting the coordinates to head there. When the course was almost laid out, he heard behind him.

"You never mentioned what you would want after we find our daughter," T'Pol said.

His fingers finished their task and he slouched in his seat.

"I've been thinking that Vulcan may not be the best place to raise her," T'Pol said.

"I'm not sure Earth is either. After what Dr. Phlox said happened to him when he was last there and the fact she's been kidnapped--"

"Isolated incidents," she said.

The comment made Archer turn on the autopilot and swivel in his seatThere were words left unsaid, hushed in her mind as if she was talking into a pillow. Closing his eyes, he tried to listen – the susurrus transforming into letters and feelings -- until he knew what echoed in her mind. It came out as clear as someone whispering in a deserted hallway.

_Jonathan would feel more comfortable visiting our daughter if I lived on Earth._

As he opened his eyes, Archer saw T'Pol was startled, and she halted her actions to face him.

_He should not have heard that, _she thought.

_But, I did, _he thought back.

It wasn't that the Vulcan wondered whether he would be part of the child's life; T'Pol was already aware that no matter what, he'd be there. Her wish was truly about his comfort; she believed that Vulcan would make it hard for him to participate as a parent – difficult for him to breathe, arduous when it came to any exertion, alien and lonely. She wanted him to be in surroundings that made him feel at home.

_T'Pol, _he thought. _I want you to be at home as well._

"I have grown accustomed to humans."

"You'd be raising our daughter in an emotional environment." _She deserves logic too, and so do you._

T'Pol halted her actions. "She is our child. She will always have a mixture of logic and emotion. And … so will I."

A lump formed in his throat, one that he decided had no business being there. Rather than give her a hug or even touch her shoulder, he decided to face the panel of his navigational system again and report on when they'd arrive at the North Pole.

"We should be there in five minutes."

---

Trip Tucker wasn't the kind of guy to sit around on his hands waiting for stuff to happen, no matter what The Drip said. And though Enterprise wasn't in orbit, making scanning Earth easier, he decided he'd try to help get to the bottom of things.

_Captain Archer and T'Pol need help._

That's why he'd given the order for Reed to try and find Vulcan/human bio-signs. Although Reed had said that needles in haystacks were easier to find, it didn't mean the Brit wasn't going to look. And look hard.

Meanwhile, Trip decided to pull a few strings to see if he could to the bottom of what Starfleet was talking about … even it meant contacting an old girlfriend. There were two kinds of people folks talked to: shrinks and bartenders.

He just happened to know one of those two types.

The blonde fixed his hair for a second, chastising himself for doing so, and then called up the one person he could always count on for the skinny. A woman about 30 years of age with reddish hair popped up on the screen.

It was Ruby, the bartender and waitress at the 602. She hadn't changed a bit.

"Hey, Ruby," Trip said. "Gosh, how long has it been five years--?"

"Six, actually," she said. "You avoided me for a while after you dumped me for … what was her name?"

"Natalie."

"Yeah."

_So far, it's not going too well._

"Well, I'm not seeing her anymore." It was poor consolation and as soon as the words fell from his mouth, he regretted them.

"So, you're in town and decided to look _me _up?" she asked.

Her arms had folded across her chest and then Trip remembered the one thing about the woman: fiery. It's mostly why he liked her.

Trip said, "No. I mean, I wanted to talk with you, but well, I wanted to hear--"

"You want to hear the scuttlebutt on your friend Archer."

"Yeah." He looked apologetic and then told her his intention. "I'm looking for any info that may help him."

"And what makes you think I'm gonna give it to you?"

"Remember that time I met your mother and --"

That was all he needed to say and right away the woman changed her tune. There'd been a time when her mother was bothering her about marriage, something that Ruby was particularly allergic to. Instead of letting the woman droll on about it, Trip decided to give the woman, in a polite Southern way, both barrels. He said stuff like, "he wasn't going to put up with it," "Ruby's a big girl" and other words along those lines.

The weird part was despite all that, Ruby's mother still liked him.

"Yeah," she said. This time, her voice was sweet. "You got her off my back. She hasn't asked since."

"That's right," he said. This time a smile covered his face. "Besides, you've known Archer longer than I have."

"That's true." Ruby sighed and looked at the monitor. "I don't know if this is helpful or not, but I heard Starfleet knows there are three primary locations for Terra Prime and is working on infiltrating them.'

"Do you know where they are?"

Ruby shook her head. "I only know about where one is located: Paris."

Trip winked at her. "You sure were helpful."

The woman smiled and then leaned in. "So, are papers right about Captain Archer and T'Pol?" Before Trip could reply, she leaned in more. "I think it's a beautiful love story. And I'm sure the two of them want their baby back. That's why you're asking me about this, isn't it?"

Unwilling to spoil the woman's imagination, Trip shrugged. "Thanks for your help, Ruby."

"Don't wait so long to contact me the next time."

And then he cut off his connection. Ruby was a strange one. He never thought of himself as a ladies' man, not that he had trouble getting dates, but the bartender/waitress always played hard to get.

_I must like women that are tough nuts to crack._

With that, he left the Ready Room.

---

Hoshi pushed the side of her face up with her palm. When she joined Starfleet to be a communications officer, she didn't realize part of her job would be to download information, the dry stuff.

At first the assignment sounded salacious.

Commander Tucker knew it was a breech of protocol, but indicated if she "happened to listen to any of the personal logs, and happened to think anything was worth reporting on" to let him know. He said that "she had a higher clearance and Cap'n Archer probably wouldn't mind if she kept the information to herself … except the noteworthy stuff."

_Commander Tucker has never been good at "code." And she liked that about him, always appreciating people who were easy to read._

She'd been staring at the wall, after listening to about ten hours of Captain Archer ramble on about nebulae, quasars, moons, planets, new alien species and occasionally engine upgrades that he thought, "Dad would be proud of." From time to time, a bark would interrupt him, a chime at the door or a comm call, but overall it was pretty standard stuff. Rarely did he mention the kind of stuff she would use her personal logs for – bitching about boring assignments, people who got on her nerves, the temperature of the ship (which was always too damned cold) and space travel in general. _She _would also have the good graces to gossip using her personal logs, covering who was cute, who was fighting and more.

_Not the Captain._

The snottiest he'd gotten were the first logs when he'd wonder about T'Pol. That seemed to die down within three months.

After that, everything was hunky dory and mind-numbingly dull for her to listen to. Maybe the most interesting was his self-reflection after dealing with the Kreetassans to get a warp coil injection. But she got the sense by the nervousness in his voice he wasn't telling the recorder everything. In fact that log he left thankfully short … unlike the rest of them.

The _one _thing Hoshi found amusing was listening to the logs at hyper speeds so that she could get through them all. Nothing sounded more amusing than Captain Archer reaching the high pitches like one of the old cartoon characters: Mickey Mouse.

As hour 11 rolled around, the conversation started to get a little more interesting. During their time in the Expanse, it seemed the captain _was _human. He'd resorted to talking with his personal logs for companionship, along with his dog, which was recorded as well. In them he would vocalize his fears: how his crew wouldn't make it back, how they wouldn't find the Xindi weapon, how even if they found it they couldn't destroy it.

They were the kinds of questions Hoshi decided the captain – with his brimming self-confidence – didn't worry about. And yet hearing him, the desperation in his voice – even at Mickey Mouse speed, made her frown.

_I wish I'd known he was so upset._

Slowing down the speed of the communication, she let him talk at his normal pace, letting the low baritone tones fill the space of his room. His voice sounded slightly inebriated, as if he probably wouldn't be talking to the device – a moment of weakness. But, the sound of his master's voice perked up Porthos' ears and he wagged his tail as if his Archer was behind a door. Hoshi combed her fingers over the dog as the captain spoke.

_January 1, 2154. It's funny, no one really had a Christmas party or a New Year's one this year, at least not that I know about. And I wonder if my crew would tell me. I've been tired and cranky ever since we've been given this assignment. _

_I know my attitude it taking a toll on them. Hell, it's taking a toll on me, but I keep reminding myself my job isn't explorer or friend; my job is that of a captain ... a military man. _

_I've never been one of those people who ascribed to New Year's resolutions. But, I've been thinking about what I've done over the past year – push friends away, torture a prisoner …._

Hoshi could tell he was fixing a drink – a glass clinked and she could hear pouring. It seemed like he was already well on his way to fulfilling a mission: getting drunk.

_Dr. Phlox keeps me informed of how the crew is doing. Trip seems to be sleeping better, and I guess that's a good thing – engines are running just fine after the modifications he made. Hoshi, despite her misgivings, seems to be hanging in there like a trouper. I'm thankful because if she wasn't here, we wouldn't be able to decipher the Xindi language and their codes. Reed … I've been tough on him, and I probably didn't need to be. He's loyal and always wants to do a good job. Travis is hanging in there as well. _

_But, I wonder about T'Pol. _

_When we got back from the Selaya, she seems removed and quiet. I wonder if she blames me for its destruction. God, I almost thought I'd lost her back there. I've also heard ship's gossip about her that I don't particularly care for. Seems people don't want two senior officers getting involved._

He sighed.

_Well, it's nobody's business really._

_She's given up an awful lot to be in the Expanse. _

Hoshi furrowed her brow; he sounded like he was drunk. "Oh, no."

_All right. I have some New Year's resolutions. I won't yell at Lt. Reed for at least a week. I'll remind Hoshi how far she's come. I'll help Trip on some of the repair work; I miss him and the engines anyway. I'll make an effort to eat more; at least it'll keep Dr. Phlox off my case. I'll ask Travis if he's contacted his family lately. _

_And as for T'Pol, maybe it's time I really thank her for everything she's done for me. Maybe I'll go thank her now. Hmmm, maybe not – probably too drunk to thank her … at least properly. She's probably wearing _those_ pajamas anyway. The ones with the …. _

The doorbell chimed.

_Who in the hell would come this time a night?_

Shuffling his feet, and Hoshi could hear it – which must've been a cross between stumbling and shuffling, he answered the door.

The only other words Hoshi heard before the recording stopped was the following:

_Speak of the devil. T'Pol, come on in. _

And then that was the end. Although she believed he was talking about Commander Tucker and Commander T'Pol, the way the information sounded – especially if they suspected there was something going on … well, it sounded suggestive. The fact that T'Pol dropped by late at night and the fact her CO talked about the woman's pajamas didn't help matters any. Hesitantly, she tapped her finger on the intercom to notify Commander Tucker.

"Tucker here."

"You in the Ready Room?"

"Yeah. Uh, oh – you … uhhh … happen to accidentally listen to something that could prove to be a problem?"

"I didn't, but I'm worried how it might sound."

"What do you mean?" Tucker asked.

"Listen." She played the most relevant information.

After a few moments of silence, she heard two words before the communication was cut off.

"Ah, shit." 

TBC


	7. Paris and tall tales

A/N: Angelus, d'oh! I know better than that. Thanks for the correction.

Thanks everyone for the lovely reviews.

---

T'Pol wiggled her fingers as she calibrated the scanner for human and Vulcan bio signs. The necessary modifications were easy thanks to information she gleaned from Dr. Phlox nearly a year ago when he'd shown her what a human and Vulcan DNA combination might look like (Lorian). Unfortunately, the calibration took longer than expected.

They'd spent four hours in the shuttle and it looked like they may spend another four.

Glancing behind her back, she noted that Archer was strangely silent, perusing the communications and pilot stations to monitor who was following them. When she pushed a little through their bond, he looked up from his station.

"Sorry, I was trying not to bother you," he said.

"I know," she said.

_Of course she does,_ she heard – his thought.

T'Pol was about to address his comment, running a finger along the panel to punch a few codes, when a sound drowned out Archer's; there was a scream in her ear, a nearly deafening one that could be heard over the cacophony of her own thoughts as well as the captain's.

The sound was shrill like that cry of a tribble, but had the urgency of a wail.

It came from her child.

Racing, her heart sped and she heard blood pulse in her ears like the roar of Enterprise's engines. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Shooting her head one way and then another, the scream – her baby's yell – made her eyes squint and her hands defensively hold her ears.

Shutting her eyes, paying close attention to the emotion behind the yell, T'Pol sensed feelings – peculiar ones. It was like hunger, but not as base. The Vulcan would best describe it as reaching on tip toes trying to get something just out of reach or wanting a blanket to snuggle into on a cold night, but not finding one available.

Teetering, she was about to fall, when a hand caught her elbow.

"Are you all right?" Archer asked.

T'Pol opened her eyes and the emotion, the screaming … all of it was gone. The only sensation that remained was a maternal panic; she wanted to see if her child was all right.

Years of meditation had told her it was best to breathe through anxiety; it would help the dread dissipate and assist her in working through the problem logically … rationally.

_Rationally._

"T'Pol?"

Somehow his hand guided her to the bench of the shuttle while she caught her breath.

"Our daugher," T'Pol said.

"What?" And then he said more. "What's wrong with her?"

His worry began to settle over her skin, making it bristle and sweat.

_Let me show you her feelings, _she thought.

Archer slipped his eyes for a second, as if to focus, and gave a frown.

"I think she wants to be held, comforted," he said.

"The yearning?" she asked.

"Touch." He settled next to her on the bench. "Human infants like to be held and touched."

"I doubt her captors hold her," she said.

He sighed, and she could feel anger build inside him. "No, I'm sure they don't."

T'Pol had never been a mother and wasn't quite sure she ever wanted to be, despite an older version of herself indicating it was indeed a worthwhile cause. It of course was logical to assume one day she would have a child, but she never imagined it would happen so soon and without her consent.

_Certainly not in this manner._

And yet despite it all, the need to secure her child's safety was too strong to ignore. In many ways, she could understand the anger welling inside Archer – the need to see these people suffer. Those feelings pushed her from the bench and made her stride back over to the console to finish her task.

She barely heard the creak of the bench again, and her captain come behind her.

"I've been thinking of a name for her," he said.

Her friend always knew just what to say, and though she could read in his mind to know exactly what he'd been thinking, she wanted to hear the words.

"Oh?"

"What about T'Les?"

T'Pol dropped her hand and her eyes rushed to meet his. "T'Les?"

"That may not be appropriate for Vulcan culture, but it--"

"It's perfect."

A soft smile gathered on his face and his eyes twinkled. The two stared at each other for a few moments, until he backed away a few paces and ducked his head. She swallowed deeply, hoping to clear the lump developing in her throat but being entirely unable to do so.

As if to dislodge it for her, he spoke again, this time his voice holding a bit of humor to it.

"Although I was thinking maybe her middle name could be Stewart."

"A middle name?"

"Yeah."

"T'Les Stewart?" she asked.

"Stewart was my mother's maiden name." Then looking at his shoes for a second, he admitted something. "It's my middle name."

T'Pol nodded. "Then her name is T'Les Stewart Archer."

"You'd want her to have my last name?" he asked. "I got the impression Vulcan last names are based on the maternal--"

"They are impossible to say. And you are her father; it is Earth tradition to--"

"In some cultures."

"That is the custom in _your _culture, Jonathan Stewart Archer."

He nodded, giving a firmer smile. "I suppose it is."

For a moment, the two gazed at each other until she turned to resume her work and he made his way back to his station to check on communications and patrol shuttles in the vicinity.

---

It was late in the evening when Malcolm arrived in his quarters. The armory officer had set up a few protocols to continue to scan for human and Vulcan bio-signs from his room when he was off-duty, no matter how futile the effort seemed.

_It's definitely futile._

He hadn't found anything in more than four hours, and he seriously doubted he would find anything in any more time. They were just too far away from Earth to scan with the precious Commander Tucker was asking for.

What had him over the ropes was -- his two most senior officers, for more than a year, were involved in some lurid affair. He could hardly believe it. Unfortunately his imagination wandered to how many times his captain had called T'Pol into the Ready Room, late at night and alone.

_No wonder they call it the _Ready Room.

He scoffed at the absurdity of his own thoughts, just as he gave them a nod.

_But, it certainly would explain a few things._

To him, it explained why T'Pol would deny Trip's affection, why she was nearly off her nutter battling the Xindi when the captain had taken the Insectoid pod to Azati Prime and why she'd ultimately divorced her husband.

_Yes, it's all starting to add up._

Of course, Trip didn't believe it.

_Not that a man in love would. And he and Archer seemed like friends at one time. One time. _

_Bollocks. _

Equally as confusing as these feelings was the blinding loyalty he felt, as if all the evidence in the world wouldn't assuage Archer's honor or T'Pol's logic. Neither could be tarnished. Certainly not for any paltry affair.

As he sat on his bunk, staring at the dimmed, blue light cast from the ceiling, he shook his head.

_If Captain Archer says he didn't do it, then he must not've. _

The one thing he could count on from the man who sat in the center chair of the bridge was honesty.

_Maybe this is what Trip was trying to tell me._

With a sigh, he jabbed at the button to turn the lights off and rolled over on his side. Just as his eyes closed, he heard the intercom beep. Careful not to sit up too quickly in his bunk bed, he'd done that the first week of staying on Enterprise knocking himself in the head every single night, he answered.

"Reed here."

"Hey, it's me," Trip said. "Sorry if I woke you."

The one thing that Malcolm both loved and hated was the informality of his friend when he was in command.

"No worries."

"I talked to someone who gave me some information on where T'Pol and Jon's kid may be."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I need a favor from you. A personal one."

Reed knew right away it meant this wasn't an order. "What is it?"

"I'd like you to take a trip." Tucker paused. "How's your French?"

---

The plan was hatched. Commander Tucker explained that Ruby suspected the main headquarters was in Paris and without any further information, Malcolm volunteered. To make the request official, Reed contacted him two minutes later to ask for a day off to visit "relatives in Paris due to a death in the family." Trip granted his buddy permission, suggesting he take that leave right away. Of course, they'd worked out a detailed plan, but Trip doubted anyone would ask about the bereavement.

_They never do._

After Reed contacted Tucker in the Ready Room to be cleared to leave for Earth, Trip gave permission for Shuttlepod One to clear the bay and then turned around as the door to the Ready Room chimed. It was Hoshi, her ponytail was askew, with hair jutting out everywhere, and she was wearing eye-bags so heavy they could've been labeled suitcases.

He'd been waiting for more information from the ensign on the personal logs ever since she indicated Archer made the slip in one about a year ago. Because she was only contacting him now, a few hours later, it seemed she had mostly good news; it meant just the one log Archer left might be problematic.

"T'Pol's personal logs are like reading Klingon comics," Hoshi said.

Trip knew first-hand that she'd only used her personal logs as notes, cataloging phenomenon. And not that he really got the whole Klingon comic quip, but figured it must've meant that the entries were dull.

_Well, Gardner would get a kick out of the one. And then he'd go bat shit. _

Overreacting was The Drip's specialty.

Hoshi Sato finally coughed to get his attention back and Trip leaned back in his chair

He said, "Well, that's it. Transfer them all to Admiral Gardner."

Sato furrowed her brow. "Sir, it's just one recording, I doubt anyone would miss it. It's not like Captain Archer recorded his thoughts daily, weekly or even monthly. He was sporadic. Sporadic enough to--"

"Nah, Hoshi, you should turn them over."

"But--"

"The _worst _they could do is officially charge him. Besides, I don't think Captain Archer would want us to lie for him, and you don't want this on your record; that's the last thing a communications officers needs – a note that says you tampered with logs."

"No one will know if I--"

"All of them." Sato pouted, unconvinced, and Trip had to play commander. "That's an order, Ensign."

He had a feeling it didn't come off as tough as he'd intended, but she stood a little straighter and nodded under the authority of the comment anyway.

"Yes, sir."

"Thanks," he said. "Now, go get some sleep."

When the door slid closed, leaving him alone in the Ready Room, Tucker sighed. Phlox had delivered some fairly good news only a couple of hours ago.

_At least Ambassador Soval is looking into this._

---

Watson looked over to his friend, Paxton, as he placed the call to his friend. The older man was hidden behind a column, out of visual range of the monitor. He knew the man wanted to be there, to hear the story they'd concocted and to embarrass Starfleet. They had the same goal: force the aliens off their planet.

And that thought brought both of them a smile.

Without hesitation, Kevin Watson contacted an old friend, Tom. Tom was a reporter at the _Seattle Times_ and had gone to the same grade school and high school, but hadn't talked in five years.

"I know something about the Enterprise Affair – the one that involves Captain Archer and the Vulcan who serves there, T'Pol," said Watson.

Tom's smoothed his hand over his wiry gray hair, widened his blue eyes and hung his mouth agape, salivating for the scoop.

So, Watson weaved an interesting tale.

It started with truth, making the lies less noticeable. He explained his father, also a scientist, worked with the famous Henry Archer and that his family was on a base with them in upstate New York. During that time, the Vulcans "prodded their noses into everything." The humans found it loathsome and used to complain about it when they weren't in earshot of the aliens. Even the children joined in, calling each of the meddlesome Vulcans "pointy-ears."

"It was a breeding ground for prejudice?" Tom asked, already hot on a story.

Watson gave a single nod. He then explained that his father kept in touch with Henry when the Archers moved, along with the project, to San Francisco. In fact, he'd kept up with him until the engineer's life was claimed more than 30 years ago. When they went to the funeral, the Archers in their pain and suffering vowed that someone would see that Henry Archer's engines were put into space. Jonathan, a boy then, shook his fist and cursed the Vulcans who came to watch the engineer buried, his voice dripping with malice.

"Captain Archer never recovered," said Watson. "His prejudice grew."

It spurned him onto seeking additional responsibility in Starfleet until he got assigned to a starship: Enterprise. But, when he was assigned a Vulcan first officer, his hate didn't cool; it twisted him.

"He raped her," Watson said. "He's been raping her for years. He said he enjoyed screwing over the Vulcans just like they'd done to his family. Eventually, she gave birth and because he had such hate for her people, he gave the child to us – Terra Prime. He even told us to do whatever we wanted with his daughter."

The story took one harrowing turn after another, indicating Archer had asked Terra Prime to take his child because he knew _they_ had no great love for the Vulcans either. He knew the group would discard his baby one way or another without telling Starfleet.

The reporter had dropped his PADD during the moments Watson said the "hero of the Expanse" was violating a woman under his command and hadn't recovered since then.

"Tom?" asked Watson.

"How do you know?"

"You mean what proof do I have?" asked Watson. For dramatic effect, he walked over to a crib – one staged only a few paces away – and scooped the child up. Shoving the baby at the monitor, pointing its ears at the screen, he said a few words.

Watson said, "This is their child. Everything I've said has been the truth."

"I'd like to travel to meet you," said Tom.

Watson nodded.

"I'd like to bring a doctor with me."

"You can," said Watson.

"Are you sure he was … _raping _his first officer?" asked Tom. "_Raping_?"

"Oh, I'm sure. Starfleet has been covering this up for years."

The reporter shook his head. "I … my wife and I named our son after him."

Deciding not to scoff at the sentimentality Tom's choice, he changed the subject.

"When can I expect you?" asked Watson.

"Tonight," the reporter said. "Kevin, what happened to you? How did you get mixed up with Terra Prime?"

Kevin Watson had been expecting this question. They kept in touch since high school, at least off and on, until his mother died last year. She was vacationing in Venezuela last year … when the Xindi attacked.

"My mother."

Tom frowned. "A lot of people died then."

Kevin's eyes flashed back at the terminal. "Only one was my mother. You know, the Vulcans were right. We're not ready for space travel. We're not ready for a lot of things."

"Maybe you're right. I'll see you soon," said Tom.

The screen blackened and Watson turned to Paxton.

"Satisfied?" said Watson.

Paxton walked over and put a hand on the man's shoulder. "We won't let anything attack Earth ever again. Enterprise will pay for causing the Xindi to come."

Watson nodded, anger settling over his bones; he'd come to know that fury as relief.

"I hope so."

TBC


	8. Eureka

A/N: I definitely took a chance with the rape scenario. I think you'll see why I chose that, kinda starts working against them.

Sorry for the tardiness!

--

When Reed arrived in Paris, it was 8 in the morning with the sun peeking through the clouds casting a rays of sunshine on the cobblestone streets. He'd gone under cover before, because he'd worked in Section 31 during his younger years, and knew covert operations like blending into a crowd and asking (without asking) where something was.

He'd have to use those skills to find out about Terra Prime.

Bringing his jacket around his neck, he cursed the damp, cool air. It felt like England.

_I left that bloody place for a reason._

Walking along the streets, he listened to the chatter of morning, people at breakfast in cafes swirling their spoons against porcelain cups and unraveling their tourist maps. One café, serving pastries, something that even Chef couldn't quite duplicate like the French, looked so inviting he was about to sit down and enjoy himself when he saw a woman … one he actually recognized.

"Malcolm?"

"Rachel," he said.

She was a woman he'd dated early in his Starfleet career. Looking over her petite frame, long dark hair and brown eyes, he gave a crooked smile; the woman hadn't changed in all the years he'd known her since they'd met in training for Section 31.

And something about her sudden appearance in France made him wonder if she was still working for them.

"What are you doing here?" she asked.

_Oh, right. I'm supposed to be going to a funeral._

"I have a funeral I have to go to tonight."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. It's not any of your immediate family?"

_She knows my sister and has met my parents._ "No. It's a friend of mine."

"What's his name?"

"Maurice." _Maurice? I don't even know a Maurice._

"I was about to have breakfast. Care to join me?" she asked.

With a single nod, he leaned in. "What are you doing here?"

She lowered her voice, pointing to a café down the street. "I've been asked to do the same thing you've been - research a group called Terra Prime."

He would've dropped his jaw, but he'd been told in spy school that was actually a bad idea. Playing coy, he decided to laugh at her statement.

"I've been asked to research Terra Prime?"

"You work on Enterprise, have all been ordered to stay aboard and then suddenly, you're here."

Reed frowned. "You tapped Commander Tucker's communication to Ruby?"

Rachel's eyes lit up and pink tinted her cheek. "That, too."

--

It had taken six hours to get the calibration and Archer was starting to get a little nervous. Although he thought going to the pole was a good idea, he knew he wasn't the only pilot that knew that trick. It was the oldest one in the book, right up there with pretending to be ill so you can manage an escape.

After the third hour, he'd rummaged through the shuttle to find extra clothing, happily turning up something a paramedic would wear – white lab coat and white jumpsuit with a large red cross on the shoulder. While sifting through the remnants of what was there, he saw extra blankets and a device that looked similar to the one Phlox used to stimulate hair growth and cell regeneration.

Using it on his forearm carelessly to test it, he saw his arm hair grow near his elbow and switched the device off in time to prevent it from looking incongruous from the rest of him.

_This could come in handy._

He'd thought about giving himself a beard, a professor like one, when he decided to turn to T'Pol. Just as he was about to ask her the second time that hour what their status was, she answered him.

"I've almost finished."

"Sorry. I know you're just as anxious as I am."

Clicking her fingers along the panel, she concentrated standing in the same spot she'd been in for what seemed like him to be ages. Squelching the need to pace, he decided to don the outfit of a Starfleet medical assistant and stripped down to the his skivvies and into his uniform. It only bothered him for a second T'Pol was behind him, and in her head reverberated a single thought.

_Don't flatter yourself._

A chuckle left his lips and when he'd finished righting the outfit, he turned to her.

"Need help?" he asked.

"Do you know how to align the particle array so that the varying degrees of human and Vulcan genome can be detected?"

Captain Archer knew a lot about engines, starships, sports, tactics, poems, and various books and plays, but he didn't know much about biology. At Stanford, he made a C in the course, and figured the teacher had rounded up. Even the word genome sounded foreign.

Staring at her, he eventually let his head fall to his chest. "No."

A hand lightly grasped his bicep. "Perhaps you can hand me that spanner."

He knew she was humoring him, but the thought was nice, which is why he reached down to fetch it.

"I actually liked Vulcan," said Archer.

"Pardon me?"

"I was thinking about our conversation earlier, about where you'd raise T'Les. I don't have a problem with Vulcan."

He held the equipment out for her and she took it, continuing to work.

"You could tolerate the heat, the gravity and an entire planet filled with my people?"

"You think I have a problem with Vulcans?" he asked.

She was careful not to answer, but he knew what she was thinking.

"You do," he said.

"I know my people have frustrated you from time to time."

Shoulders sagging, he let out a sigh. "I don't have anything against your race. Having Surak's memories, working with you for more than four years …."

"Perhaps you don't have prejudice, but you are still apprehensive."

"I think you should stay there. The symbol that your mother gave you … the IDIC. Infinite diversity in infinite combinations, right?"

"Yes."

"I think your people will be more accepting of our daughter."

"Jonathan, living on Vulcan wouldn't satisfy--"

A beep interrupted their conversation, T'Pol stared at the display of the scanner and quietly said.

"It's working."

"You found her?"

Tapping a few buttons, the beeping stopped and a red glow seemed to dance in a location nearly off the monitor. A single eyebrow shot up and the Vulcan turned to him, elation bubbling behind her mask.

"I believe our child is on Earth's moon."

Wrapping his arms around her, he brought her into a tight hug and when she rested against his chest, he squeezed a little more. It was intended to be a quick embrace, one of jubilation, but the words whispering in his brain made him feel not just happy, but comfortable. The sensation flowing through him was like lying down for a Sunday afternoon nap, diving into cool sheets with a blanket snuggled around him as the rain pelted the windowsill. Cozy.

When he stepped away from her, he noticed her eyes had closed.

"T'Pol?" he asked.

Her eyes opened languidly and her mouth turned up at the corners just barely.

"T'Les felt that," she said.

Before he did something stupid, which he was likely to do if the lazy feeling of contentment continued, he made his way back to his seat and set a course for the moon as per T'Pol's coordinates. As the shuttle hovered over the expansive ice, Archer noticed a proximity warning – in less than a thousand yards was another ship.

Leaning forward, he saw it was a Starfleet shuttlepod.

--

Soval strolled over to his computer to provide the evidence he had thus far regarding the Enterprise Affair, a name he'd given the incident mostly because that was what the Earthers called it. After clearing his throat, he leaned over the panel to ensure the device captured everything he had to say. His thumb gently nudged the button and a light shone, indicating he was being recorded.

"I have talked with Dr. Phlox regarding the matter between Commander T'Pol and Captain Archer. He seems convinced they did not enter a relationship, though did indicate the captain had at once time harbored feelings for his first officer."

Disturbing his recording, a whining buzz sounded. Fingering a button to stop his recoding, he looked up as a short man with a dark beard (despite having shaved), black hair and black eyes entered. Soval straightened and then clasped his hands neatly behind his back.

"Admiral Gardner. This is unexpected."

"Ambassador, Minister Samuels sent me to apologize about Sausalito."

The Vulcan bowed his head. "No one was hurt."

"Luckily."

"Luck has nothing to do with it. Humans do not mean us harm, they simply are confused about--"

"I'm also here to ask why you're investigating a Starfleet matter," said the admiral.

Stalking over to a chair, the admiral plopped himself down, uninvited, as the Vulcan watched the little man do so. Soval thought briefly on how fortunate it was his species lived to 200; it meant they had a great deal of patience, something he relied on from time to time, like a robe of state draped over his shoulders. A long breath was drawn, one where he envisioned the dance of the fountains beneath his window and then continued.

"I believe you have drawn an improper conclusion. I did not realize that Vulcan could not _also _look into--"

Gardner waved his hand emphatically and his nose whistled as he sighed heavily. "I hear you're snooping around in my affairs."

"Snooping? I believed the accusation was against _Captain Archer_, not _yourself_."

Soval understood Admiral Gardner's meaning, but sometimes arguing the particulars of the particulars confounded humans enough to come to the point without the emotion and hostility. As confusion crept onto Gardner's face, the Vulcan realized his tactic succeeded.

"No, I mean …." Gardner said, "We haven't drawn any conclusion yet."

"You are holding them; I presume you charged the captain and his first officer?"

"No." The human looked down at his shoes. "Actually, they escaped before we could."

"Escaped?" _Fascinating. _"I see."

"What info do you have on them?" Gardner asked.

Soval folded his hands across his chest. "I have questioned Enterprise's doctor."

"And?"

"I do not believe the two had been involved."

"Eyewitness accounts indicate he'd come out of her quarters late at night … more than once."

"I have read that." Soval shook his head. "Circumstantial."

"We just uncovered a log that indicated the two were … intimate."

That caused the hands behind his back to release and his spine to straighten. "You did?"

Gardner agreed, "It was made by Captain Archer himself. He admitted T'Pol was involved with a _senior _officer."

"There are many on board Enterprise. It _is _possible she was involved with Lt. Reed or Commander Tucker."

That seemed to make the admiral pause for only a moment. Before the Vulcan had the chance to question him further on that highly human "gut instinct" Gardner waved away the comment.

"No." Gardner stood. "You know what they say in human court cases?"

"I have never witnessed a trial."

The little man pointed at the Vulcan's chest, scoffing, and then walked closer.

"They say enough circumstantial evidence leads to the _circumstances _of a _crime_. I think we have that here. And we have the DNA of their child – a baby produced _only _by the two of them. Even a Vulcan like yourself should rely on facts."

There was logic to what the admiral said, and yet stubborn Vulcan cynicism prevented him from agreeing.

Soval said, "It would _seem _they have done wrong. If they had done _actual _wrong, would they not have hidden the evidence?"

"They got sloppy."

"Vulcans are quite tidy and--"

"Look, I know T'Pol was your student, your mentee. It must hurt to know that she's capable of this – seducing the captain."

The Vulcan's eyebrow poked up. "I had thought if there was any seduction, it would have been perpetrated by Captain Archer. Vulcans are without feeling – emotion. We are creatures ruled by logic. To give up such sentiment must --"

"Then why did T'Pol decide to join Starfleet? Jon had to push us to consider her a candidate … not to mention bring her in, without Starfleet Academy training, as a commander."

_Yes, that is perplexing. _"Yes, but the two share a bond of friendship."

Gardner scoffed. "Maybe Vulcans can tolerate a woman as beautiful as T'Pol and would fight for her that way. But, there's no way a human male would do that for a woman who was merely his friend. No way."

"I understood that you gave T'Pol her title based on her heroism in the Expanse."

"We would've waved training, but … give her the title of Commander?" He shook his head. "Jon pulled strings and even threatened to leave Starfleet if she wasn't promoted to Commander."

"I had no idea."

"See how the circumstantial evidence is adding up?" Gardner asked.

_Yes. _"I am not convinced that I should stop looking into this matter."

The admiral tapped his finger along the desk, as if wondering if he should reveal information. Finally after a few seconds, he looked up and sighed.

"We just spotted the vehicle they stole. Archer took it to the Arctic. Why would they run unless they were guilty?"

Soval poked his eyebrow toward the ceiling and shook his head. "I have long ago stopped pondering the logic of humans."

Gardner gave a chortle and then coughed. "You seem insistent on getting information."

The Vulcan didn't answer.

"Fine. When we capture them you can ask all the questions you want to. I'll give you full access."

For a moment, Soval though about an entirely human concept – a catch – and waited for it to be revealed. When it wasn't, he furrowed his brow and started concocting a plan.

Soval said, "Yes, I believe that would be acceptable." And the Vulcan convinced himself those words weren't a lie; after all if they were caught, he would welcome the chance to speak with them. Until then, he would continue on, investigating in his spare time.

Gardner squinted his eyes and then marched out of the room. As Soval watched him leave, he made a note to contact Commander Tucker.

_Perhaps the young man could provide some insight into this._


	9. Geothermal activity and Lunar flu

Before Soval contacted Commander Tucker, he decided to place an important call first, one that would provide additional time to further his investigation. He didn't like to use his power or connections as an ambassador often, but he realized the human saying "power has its privileges" was essentially correct, no matter how much he disliked the thought. Walking calmly to his desk, he tapped the comm button to contact a Vulcan geologist – a man he'd been friends with for more than fifty years, a Vulcan assigned to a research facility in the Arctic.

"Kevek," Soval said, bringing the visage up on the monitor.

A man with gray hair, cut in a bob much like his own appeared. His face was craggy, as if chiseled with age, and his skin had gone a light green under the protective clothing needed for cold climes.

"Soval. It has been many years."

"Too long, my friend." Soval sat down and pointed his fingers under his chin. "How is T'Pava?"

"She is well."

"And your research. I had read recently that--"

"You call asking for a request, do you not?" asked Kevek.

Soval could only gaze placidly at the monitor. "I do."

"How may I assist you?" asked Kevek.

"I have two friends in your vicinity – in a shuttlepod. They need to escape a Starfleet vessel approaching."

Kevek nodded, leaning over and punching a few buttons. "I have them on radar."

"It is in the interest of Vulcan that we prevent the Starfleet vessel from reaching my colleagues."

Kevek poked an eyebrow into the air. "In the interest of Vulcan?"

"Indeed."

"I see." Kevek eased his eyebrow onto his head and offered a solution. "We have been perfecting our geothermal activity device. I could release a geyser at the Starfleet vessel's coordinates."

Releasing hot gasses, tapping Earth's core, had been a the goal for many years. Kevek had lived on Earth 100 years attempting to make that theory reality; it would enable Earth to harness limitless energy sources without causing destruction to the planet. It was more efficient that stores of plasma and may lead to tapping the sun's energy one day, even for Vulcans.

"A geyser? I heard you had not been able to perfect that."

Kevek shook his head, his lips tilting up by mere centimeters. "Minister T'Pau asked us to … be silent about that for the time being. The humans may become agitated under the current environment."

Soval could only too readily agree. "You are concerned about the consequences due to the news coverage of Enterprise's captain and commander?"

The older man gave a single head nod. "I do not suppose your previous mentee, Enterprise's commander, is one of the people aboard that ship?"

"Perhaps."

Kevek said, "I will let you know when I finish … _testing_… the geothermal device."

"That would be most appreciated. Soval out."

---

Captain Archer as boy read myths; he particularly enjoyed diving into a society's psychology and imagining the heroes and deities people created that made up the universe – the stars in the sky, the transition from winter to spring and summer and then back again. In those legends, every myth had a trickster – the coyote, the raven, Loki ….

He didn't particularly think of himself as a trickster, someone who was good out cunning, but he somehow felt luck had always been on his side. Sometimes, when he was alone at night, he would think it was his father smiling down at him and giving him an extra hand. At least, he knew he didn't earn the universe's special attention.

_It is your pride and confidence. You think you will always prevail. I believe it prevents you from thinking defeat is possible._

With a glance over his shoulder at T'Pol, the comment's originator, he smiled.

"Maybe," he said. _Although this time, I think my luck has run out. _

As Archer took a deep breath and was about to use his communications device to tell the ship on his port that he was going to give up, something extraordinary happened. A sudden burst of water erupted and ice chunks spewed in all directions, particularly at the Starfleet vessel approaching. A soft clanging rattled his ship, but he knew the other vessel was littered with debris. Shaking his head, a smile spreading over his lips, he used that as his way of getting away. The Starfleet ship bobbled and sputtered against the geyser, drifting to the ground for what Archer guessed was maintenance.

_That was certainly fortunate,_ thought T'Pol.

"Too fortunate," he said.

Laying in a course, he decided to make his way to the moon post haste. When the automatic controls were set, he made his way to the back and rifled through the medical equipment. Picking up a slender silver tool, he nudged it in front of T'Pol.

"Do you know how to use that cell regeneration tool?" he asked.

"No."

He scanned his memory, trying to remember how Phlox had created longer tresses for him when they'd tricked Degra into thinking the two had escaped from a prison together. Holding his breath, he jammed his fingers over the device and pressed it to his scalp. There was a tingling feeling and he made his way to a metal bin that shone his reflection. Quickly, his hair grew past the regulation length and touched his shoulders. And then he placed the device to his face.

"You think we can disguise ourselves by growing hair?" she asked.

He could see a beard grow, one spotted with the occasional gray. When it covered his face, he shrugged and turned to her.

"It's worth a shot. There's an extra paramedic uniform. Maybe you should put it on and we'll get your ears covered."

An eyebrow shot up and turning a few knobs, he placed the device back to him to cover his head and face with gray.

---

The café was sleepy, as if Paris' tourists were the only ones there. Rachel sipped her coffee. Reed smiled. She'd divulged a lot of information, more than he anticipated.

Terra Prime was an organization building strength since the Xindi attack although the head of the organization seemed a mystery. They had a few candidates that seemed likely – a Parisian businessman known for donating money to anti-alien causes. Jacques Miro, a great-great-great grandson (with a few more greats) of the famous 20th century painter. He used his fame and fortune to make Paris a place few aliens wanted to visit.

Reed couldn't help but notice in the throngs of tourists, he hadn't seen one alien.

There was John Paxton, head of the Orpheus Mining Colony, running operations on the moon and Mars. Although more subtle in his hatred, he too gave to candidates that were anti-alien. And the government on the moon and Mars were distinctly focused on Earth-first policies. The Prime Minister of Earth frequently had debates with these characters.

Lastly, there was Sarah Bron. She was the granddaughter of a war hero – James Bron - from the third world war. Her family was from Montana, but she'd moved to Tokyo recently to contract a scientist on diseases aliens were prone to. Section 31 had a close eye on her and had labeled her investigation into bio-weapons a particularly dangerous one. The baby plot didn't quite seem like her modus operandi though. She was more likely to be in the shadows than the limelight.

"So, you're mostly waiting until someone makes their presence known?" Reed asked.

Rachel blew into her coffee. "That's the general idea. In the meantime, I've been asked to keep a close eye on Miro. He comes to the café at noon everyday. The owner of this establishment had a daughter who was killed in the Xindi attack; she was living in Argentina at the time."

He nodded his head, sadly. _Seems nearly everyone lost someone._

"Section 31 is involved because you think Captain Archer and Commander T'Pol are innocent?" he asked.

Rachel raised her eyebrows. "We know she and Commander Tucker were an item."

Nearly sputtering his own coffee into the air, he leaned in. "How the bloody hell--?"

"You weren't the only man on Enterprise to join Section 31." She folded her arms across her chest. "And there's more than one Terra Prime spy on Enterprise, too."

"What?" Reed asked.

Glancing down at her watch, she reported the time was 11:45. "Miro will be here soon. Don't blow my cover will ya? I'll see you later."

"But, I thought we were in this together."

Rachel smiled. "We are. I'll contact you later with news." Setting a few credits on the table, she walked away.

---

Something had been bugging Trip for the past couple of days. If what T'Pol had said was true, and he believed she wouldn't lie to him, how could someone have T'Pol or the captain's DNA?

_Someone on this ship or someone in Starfleet._ T'Pol and the captain would've submitted to physicals certified by Starfleet personnel as well as having the yearly poke and prod, as Tucker called it, from Dr. Phlox.

Tucker crossed his arms, lounging in the Ready Room. He didn't like to think someone aboard Enterprise was guilty, but his mind went there almost right away. It's why he'd made his way down to Sickbay to talk with Phlox.

When he got there the Denobulan seemed to be working on the problem already, and seemed to have the same concerns. Phlox gave him the logs of who had access to the biocontainers where T'Pol and Archer's DNA was housed and the blonde gave a large frown.

"Dr. Phlox, Ensign Cutler." They were the only two names on the logs.

"No one else?" asked Tucker.

"No one."

And Cutler had died in the Expanse during the most difficult of the firefights with the Xindi ship while T'Pol acted as captain. Trip hung his head. She'd died trying to get to his engineers who were trapped and perished in the heroic effort.

_Couldn't be her or Phlox._

"Then it has to be Starfleet," said Trip.

Phlox shook his head. "It could be anyone who has access to either the captain or commander."

Trip remembered the peach he gave the doctor that helped figure out T'Pol's DNA, protecting her from the Loque'que virus sequence through her saliva as the doctor continued.

"Hair follicles, saliva – anyone who has access to either is a suspect."

"That's nearly everyone on the ship," said Trip.

"Yes it is."

_Back to square one._

---

Archer admired himself in the mirror – gray scraggily hair dipped to his shoulders and a cropped gray beard clung to his face. The white uniform of a paramedic was a little short for him, making reaching over a little challenging, but he accepted the discomfort. He then turned to admire T'Pol. Long past her shoulders, her chestnut hair cascaded down her back and her uniform sagged at her frame, too large for her skinny physique.

"I would not have thought gray hair would be so becoming," she said.

His face sloped up, knowing she was teasing him. Grabbing a rubber band, he gathered his wavy hair and tied it back; having short hair for most of his life meant that he couldn't stand hair on his face. After he was done, he scratched his beard.

"Itches."

A beep from the scanners let her know they were closing in on the Lunar Colony and the plan was set into motion. Archer scooted into the pilot's seat.

"This is Lunar Colony to Starfleet Medical," said a man over the intercom. Archer intercepted it.

Archer said, "Starfleet Medical. We've been asked to check in on the mining colony. Seems there's been an outbreak of Lunar flu."

The guy on the other end sighed. "Again?"

"Hey, I'm just following orders. Besides that last one nearly killed twenty miners."

As a captain, Archer knew Starfleet medical procedures – even if he didn't know the particulars of the diseases or medicines. For example, he knew that it was common for Starfleet to what the miners considered, butt in, to protect the health and welfare of Earth and its colonies … even when they weren't invited.

The man on the other end, gave a few coordinates near the blinking red light that indicated T'Les, and T'Pol and Archer seemed to collectively hold their breaths as they landed.

After they did, they stepped out of the shuttle, Archer wanting desperately to stretch his cramped legs and took their medical bags over to the man who looked like he was in charge of the Hanger Deck. Shuttles were scattered throughout the hanger bay, welding sparks flew everywhere and general chaos seemed to ensue.

_The colony was never organized, _he thought

"I don't have you listed as arriving today," the man said to T'Pol.

Archer said, "I don't care what it says. We were ordered by Warwick himself. If you want Chief Medical Officer Warwick to contact you, we can arrange it."

The man hurled a frown at them. "Ma'am you let your med-jockey do all your talking?"

Archer had forgotten he wore the uniform with the lower rank, something akin to the ambulance driver and junior med.

"No." T'Pol turned her attention to the man. "He just happens to be correct."

As if taking charge of the situation, she pointed to Archer. "We have orders and don't need to waste our time with him."

There was a question in the hanger deck chief's eye, but he kept his mouth shut. And T'Pol used that as her opportunity to head for the mines, Archer following closely behind her and when they were out of ear shot, he leaned into his first officer.

"Nice work."

Pulling out a small scanner, she pointed it in a direction. "This way."

"Why is T'Les in a mine?"

T'Pol read the data and shook her head. "She is not the mine, she is above it, in the core facility."

TBC


	10. Plans come together

Part of the plan to get their daughter hadn't included exactly how they would retrieve her daughter from Terra Prime, but it at least told Archer who was behind this. Although Archer never paid much attention to politics, other than to cast his vote and be aware of the issues, he knew John Paxton. Not only a businessman, he'd been seen shaking hands with politicians and working toward more freedoms for the Moon for years.

"This way," said T'Pol.

The words shook him from his musings, and he followed her.

Leading with her scanner, she filed into the darkened mine shaft and he stayed at her heel. Squinting into the dark, feeling cavern walls, he hoped to figure out his destination while keeping his eyes trained on her white jumpsuit, the only thing that illuminated the corridor. Unable to travel as fast as she, he saw the white jumpsuit in front of him nearly fade out of view and then turn back for him. A hand gripped his to help him find his way through the maze and when he stared at her back, that grasp tightened.

_This may help us reach the destination more quickly. _T'Pol thought, _My eyes are accustomed to low-lighting. _

One junction transformed into another giving him time to start adjusting to solid blackness. The dark gave him one added ability, he noticed their telepathic communication became easier.

_It is because we are touching,_ T'Pol thought.

It also became easier to feel the thoughts of his child – lonely, scared and hungry. Basic needs – cleaning, comfort and food – seemed lacking. More than that, Archer got the sense his child was being stifled physically, as if kept in a cage. Closing his eyes just for a moment, he could picture it in his mind: plastic and see-through. Not just an incubator, but a place to contain her and muffle her crying.

T'Pol didn't have a name for any of these emotions and was unsure whether they were normal, though she was aware they emanated from T'Les. Gaining Archer's understanding, realizing how terrifying they were and seeing the contraption more vividly, made her quicken her pace.

"We'll find her," said Archer.

He looked at their connected hands, his feet flying behind her struggling to keep up with the pace she tore through the tunnels.

"To be in such conditions," said T'Pol. "No being deserves such treatment."

Archer felt a lump in his throat, making it difficult to breathe – it was her worry and concern … like a mother's rage.

"They treat our daughter as if she were an animal," she said.

A jolt of electricity, like the one used to awake patients from death, shot through him and his heart spasmed and then pumped fiercely as he gritted his teeth. Anger, pure and uncontrollable stormed in his belly as his eyes narrowed.

_It's her emotion, _he thought

"How could they do something so sinister?" she asked.

Slamming in his chest, on the verge of bursting, his heart raced. His breath turned ragged, his lips tightened and his nostrils flared. He wanted to take his fist and smash the wall, crushing the stone or his hand, or run in a blind fury in any direction.

Stop! he thought. 

"Why would they treat her such!" said T'Pol.

His mouth strangled a scream, one that would reverberate on the walls, shutting out all other noise. And just as he was about to open his mouth and yell into the darkened caverns, the feeling subsided dwindling into nothingness.

Confusion was left in its wake.

Stopping, he anchored down her own movements until she halted next to him. Slipping his hand out of hers, he took it to her jaw and looked into her eyes as a veil, muffling her emotions, cascaded around her.

And yet, even in the dim lighting, he spied tears threatening to spill from her large, brown eyes. His thumb stroked her cheek and he softened.

"We're going to find her. And we're going to save her."

The Vulcan nodded, tears still clinging to her eyes and he reached out to draw her to his chest. Tucking her head under his chin, he felt himself well up, too.

"I am weighed down with emotion," she said, feebly.

"I know."

"Yours and hers. My control--"

He sighed into her hair. "I know. You don't need to worry about controlling your emotions."

"I _always_ need to worry about control. For a Vulcan it--"

He said, thinking of Surak, "Is the cornerstone to logic. I know that, too. I'm saying, you don't need to control your emotions with me. We can share them."

They broke their embrace and confusion marred her visage.

He said, "Stuffing down your emotions only makes them stronger."

_Yes, they are more volatile. This is something you deal with?_ she thought.

_Yeah. _"Sharing them with me, rather than letting them build up, should help you control them."

She knitted her brow.

"Maybe we can work through them together," he said.

"I have _already _been sharing many of them with you."

He shook his head. "For the most part, you've been stifling them. I can feel it."

She seemed to give the matter thought.

"It'll help me, too," he said. "It's comforting to know what you're feeling, T'Pol, and that you're experiencing the same things I am – doubt about being a parent, frustration, anger …."

For a moment, she regarded him – his gesture, his comments and more. Maybe it was his imagination, but for the first time in a long time, she seemed to gaze at him as if making some assessment. He furrowed his brow in response, and he heard a snippet of her thought.

_He has strength of character._

"I will endeavor to do so," she said.

He gave a smile. "Good."

--

Trip was glad when Hoshi walked back onto the Bridge and nestled into her chair. She looked pooped, despite getting six hours of sleep, and her hair wasn't in the tidy ponytail she usually wore at her station. Even her shoulders sagged a little.

_Six hours after being awake more than 24 will do that to ya, _thought Tucker.

Sometimes Trip wondered if the rigors of the Expanse and the torture she'd undergone had caught up with her and whether she still had nightmares. He still had them about the Xindi and what happened to his sister, and he wasn't bound to a chair, forced to decode information for two days straight.

Stepping on the balls of his feet, he approached her gingerly.

"Hosh?" he asked.

Snapping back to attention, her eyes turned a little brighter. "Yes, sir?"

"I have something I'd like to talk with you about," he said.

Curling up his finger, he led her into the Ready Room and then sat on the edge of Archer's desk, his hands folded into his lap as he imagined the captain would've done.

"Hosh, you look beat-tired."

A flimsy smile crossed her face. "I'm fine, sir."

He shook his head, and before he could open it again, she interrupted. "I think I've had more sleep than you have, Commander, and I have less to worry about."

His hand reached out and took her bicep tenderly before he released it.

"If you're up for it, I have something I'd like you to look into. It'd be a favor for me," he said.

Her eyebrows climbed onto her head.

"I think we have a spy on board," he said. "I think Terra Prime got Captain Archer and Commander T'Pol's DNA from _here_. Aboard Enterprise."

Her eyebrows slid into a deep furrow and he nodded.

He said, "I don't like it either, but Dr. Phlox and I think it's true. And I'm betting they contacted someone back home to assist them or send them a hair follicle or more to create that child."

The Communications Officer folded her arms. "How old is the little girl?"

"Six months. It means someone must've given it to Terra Prime in the Expanse."

"Or when we arrived on Earth."

"I suppose. Although, Phlox thinks they would've needed more time than just a year to develop a hybrid."

"I still can't believe someone would do that," she said.

He couldn't disagree. "That means you'll look into it?" he asked.

"And what exactly should I be looking for?"

"Someone who transmitted a package, checked out some biohazard packing material, anything suspicious …. Phlox may be able to help you."

"Yes, sir."

"I keep asking you to do the impossible, but you know what, Ensign?"

She shook her head.

"You keep doing it. Thanks for you help. I owe ya one."

A genuine smile worked onto her face, pushing aside the purple bruising under her eyes. "Then, I want to see _Singing in the Rain _next Tuesday."

He'd planned _The Wolfman_ for that night, but gave a smile and a wink.

"You got it."

--

Reed sipped at his cup with a frown. He'd talked himself into and out of following Rachel at least a dozen times. And though he hated to admit it, he followed a gut instinct that told him to sit still until she came back.

It also allowed him to sip his coffee while looking out at the Paris.

Springtime in the city was like none other – trees blossoming, tourists kissing and sunshine caressing gothic buildings, bringing the temperature up to where one might need only a light jacket. The city gardens shone like none other and even places outside the town, like Versailles, radiated. The Arc de Triumph had a circle of flowers – red and yellow tulips – encircling it. At least from what he remembered.

He wouldn't be biking there today, this was a trip with a purpose.

Taking another swig of his coffee, he thought about Rachel's response. There was a Terra Prime spy onboard, maybe someone who took DNA from Commander T'Pol and Captain Archer.

_I wouldn't have thought anyone on Enterprise could do such a thing._

In Malcolm's own list of "shady characters" were only a few crewmen, including Commander Kelby, the snot-nosed kid who took over Engineering in Trip's absence. Although Reed had a blinding loyalty to Tucker, Kelby was a prat who couldn't make even the most meager of decisions. It turned his stomach. The boy, and that's what he was, had been promoted before his turn. Why Tucker had recommended him for an extra set of bars, and not that Malcolm would complain, but … earning bars before _he personally _did, burned him.

_Commander Kelby._

He'd ask Rachel about that engineer when she returned. With his coffee poised at his mouth, a stranger's voice was behind him.

"You're from Enterprise – the ship that saved us from the Xindi."

Malcolm narrowed his eyes, turning to a tall man with a dark moustache. The gentleman was in his late 50's or early 60's, which made his dark hair somewhat of an anomaly against his wrinkled skin.

"You must have me mistaken for someone else, sir," lied Reed.

"I watched my screen when the heroes of the Expanse returned, after destroying the Xindi weapon. I made no mistake. Your name is Lt. Reed."

"No." With a smile, he tried to change the man's mind. "But, I get that a lot."

"My daughter was killed because of the Xindi. She was vacationing in Argentina."

He must be the owner that Rachel told me about. 

"I'm very sorry to hear that. Seems everyone lost someone there." He shook his head again. "I wish I could take credit for being someone on the Enterprise, for getting those bastards, but I can't. I'm just a tourist."

The man wrinkled his forehead. "I don't think so, masseur."

_Why did Rachel take me to _this _coffee shop_? _Especially if she knew the proprietor could be a member of Terra Prime?_

"Why don't I just pay, and--"

"If Enterprise had not gone poking through the galaxy, Earth would've remained safe."

"Listen, mate--"

"No, you listen! My daughter would still be alive if it wasn't for you! People celebrate what your ship did, but it was Enterprise who caused these _aliens _to come in the first place."

Reed slipped a few credits on the table, to pay for his coffee, and was about to stand up, when he realized there was a metal contraption sticking into his back. It was a phase pistol or weapon of some kind. For a split second, Malcolm thought he would throwing the man behind him; the tactical officer had taken down more difficult opponents – a man in his late 50s, holding a weapon as if he hated doing so, was no match for him.

The proprietor said, "I'll take you to Miro. He'll know what to do with you. Stand up very slowly and put your hands in the air."

It was then that Malcolm put his hands in the air, producing an odd smile. The slight raising of his lips wasn't just realizing he'd make his way into seeing the possible leader of Terra Prime, but noticing Rachel's raven hair giving her away from behind a cart across the street.

_I was bait._

--

One darkened corridor led to another when finally, T'Pol spoke through the hushed darkness.

"This is it."

"What's it?"

He heard the tapping of a few buttons and a contraption come to life. The sound was cranky like rusted machinery parts groaning against ancient cables. A clang finally resounded less than a few feet away and through the blackness, Archer would barely make out what looked like an old mining elevator.

Stepping in, T'Pol maneuvered a bar into position, the lever to indicate which floor, and the elevator slowly shook taking them to the top. Each creak and moan, cables complaining, made the captain more nervous.

_This mining lift is still in use,_ she thought.

The Vulcan, who'd had the foresight to stuff a phase pistol in her medical bag, retrieved it laying the bag at her feet and clicked the nozzle of her weapon to energize it. She placed the scanner in a pocket.

Metal doors screeched open, light poured in – the clinical white glow of a sterile environment like a hospital or business. The captain's eyes squinted, blinded, and then when they'd adjusted to the light scanned the hallway, noticing a banner with a fist raised in triumph, the symbol of the Orpheus Mining Colony. On further inspection, he looked again and realized it was a more intricate design – it was the one Colonel Greene had used to unite Earthers who remained free of radiation. It was a cry of extermination. His blood froze and his feet rooted themselves to where he stood.

"It's the mark of a holocaust," he said.

Giving a near frown, she closed her eyes. "I know."

Taking the scanner from her pocket for a moment, she pointed it into the air.

"We are close. Less than two yards," she said. With that, she stuffed the device back in her pocket.

"Let's go," he said.

Phase pistol pointed in front of her, she shoved it to the right and then left, and then skulked down the hallway, with him sneaking behind her. Their boots barely squeaked against the overly polished tile floor and he could hear his own breath struggling with the urgency of the moment.

T'Pol stopped suddenly. He took it as a sign that humanoids were in front of them, less than twenty feet away and rounding the next bend. Stepping backward, hoping to hide themselves behind a turn, they heard a voice behind them.

"I knew you would come."

Archer turned, his fists clenching as if to use them to see John Paxton, entrepreneur, staring at him with a ridiculous smile on his face. Behind him were three guards, all with phase rifles pointed in their direction. With something akin to pride, Archer noticed T'Pol clung to her weapon, her finger hovering over the trigger.

"You came here for Abomi," said Paxton.

"Who?" said T'Pol.

"Abomination – our nickname for your binary clone."

_Our daughter,_ she thought.

Her finger squeezed just a little harder and before light could travel from her weapon, the guards felled her and she slumped to the ground. Ignoring the rifles on him, Archer's eyes stayed on his first officer as he winced due to her pain, shared through the bond.

T'Pol's eyes closed, and when a phaser blast hit him, so did his own. He didn't miss the ominous words that floated in the air, dreamily.

"I'm glad you arrived in time. We have a reporter that would very much like to meet you, and hear what you've been doing to your first officer." Paxton laughed. "Very eager. It'll be a real scoop. Eh, Watson?"

"Yes, sir."

With his last possible ounce of strength, Archer reached for his first officer and barely touched her forearm.

TBC


	11. Meet T'Les

A/N: Mooch-ass, grassy-ass for pointing out that suddenly Reed was called someone who massages people. Mon Dieu!

--

The first thing Archer noticed when waking up, was his head hurt. The second, he detected his face was pressed up against cold, white tile. Moving to his elbows, when his brain stopped pounding against his temples, he saw a metal door sealing off the room. Finally, he arose seeing something much more important than the makeshift prison he'd entered, which brought him to his feet immediately -- T'Pol held a baby in her arms.

"Are you all right?" asked T'Pol.

"Yeah. You?" he asked.

"Yes."

On the balls of his feet, cautiously, he approached both mother and child, reaching his hand to touch the infant's raven hair, curling ever so slightly. The baby, startled – and he knew that was the emotion she felt – batted her giant green eyes and gurgled. A smile crossed his lips, knowing the bubbles coming out of T'Les' mouth were happiness. Dodging back into her mother's shoulder, she kicked her legs with joy.

"She's beautiful," he said.

"She is," said T'Pol.

"She's okay?"

"Yes."

His hand smoothed over her head again, his fingers slipping over her baby-fine tresses, while his daughter squealed with delight.

T'Pol offered T'Les to him and he took the babe into his arms, cradling her against his chest. He'd held other infants before for short periods of time always anxious he would drop them to their doom. It was also his intention to give children back to their parents quickly, before they had a chance to stain his clothes with drool, vomit or any other fluid.

This was different.

Eyeing her features, he noticed her mouth was like T'Pol's -- full and round; her chin had the tiniest of dimples – a trait that Archer had gained from his own father; and that her hair was dark and curly, just as his had been when he was an infant. Her ears were pointy and her skin had a faint glow of copper.

Stuffed into a white coveralls, binding her feet, she reached a tiny finger and touched his nose.

The experience caused a lump in his throat and he stared down at her, his chest swelling and his heart thundering.

"I can't believe it," he said.

T'Pol put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

"It is difficult to fathom," she said.

"Hi," he said. The tone was soft, but not childish. "You've got your mother's ears, T'Les. Very becoming."

He felt T'Pol's eyebrow admonish him as she slipped her hand away, but he smiled all the same.

He said, "We're going to get you out here." Looking around for only a moment, he said a few words mostly to himself. "Although, I'm not exactly sure how."

And then, he turned toward T'Pol, who shook her head.

"I'm not sure how either," she said.

Assessing the room, he gathered this was where they kept T'Les – the small see-through crib that barely enabled the child room to turn over; machines hooked up to it to give her nourishment and other necessities; a camera; and a monitor, one that was currently blank.

_No doubt Paxton is watching us now, he thought._

_Yes, no doubt, she thought back._

As if to signify they weren't alone, the screen lit up for a moment fading from black to the man who shot them earlier in the corridor. John Paxton's spread into a grin.

"Greetings! I see you're both feeling better," said Paxton. "And just as you wanted, you found your clone."

"Let us out of here," said Archer.

The member of Terra Prime shook his head. "Not yet. In fact, our reporter is here. Watson and I would like for you to talk with him, Captain. We have a few things we'd like you to say to him."

"And why would I help you?"

"Because if you don't, we'll kill T'Pol."

Archer threw a glance to his first officer and then frowned.

Paxton's grin turned more gruesome. "Of course, we'd prefer not to, but … she's no longer much use to us now. And having you talk to the reporter is exactly what we need."

"You'd kill her?"

Paxton's face fell. "If we have to, although I'm betting you'll cooperate."

Archer was quiet, and then Paxton spoke again.

"We'll collect you in a few minutes and bring you a fresh set of clothes. You'll need to look like Captain Jonathan Archer of Enterprise."

---

There had been a burlap sack over Reed's head and his hands had been tied behind his back for the entire voyage; how long that journey was he couldn't be sure. The only things he had been sure of is that he was in a shuttle with other people, silent though they'd been, and the craft was only now lowering as if to land. He'd also been aware the bag over his face was itchy, hot and stuffy, making it difficult to breathe or concentrate on much other than the fact he couldn't scratch his own nose.

"We're almost there," said a man's voice. It was one Reed was unfamiliar with.

_I wonder if Rachel managed to follow us. _

Finally with a loud thump, his body jostled, indicating they'd landed. The hood was ripped from his head, a door opened and a gun at his chest. It took Reed a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the light that shone in, sunlight, and he eventually blinked it away.

"Where are we?" asked Malcolm.

He saw the proprietor, the one that captured him, before him still holding a gun. There were two other men as well, a short, bald one and a man of average height, skinny in build.

The proprietor leaned over. "Get up."

Reed did as he was told and made his way from the shuttle to a magnificent landing strip, green grass, in the middle of some vineyards. Only a few feet away -- a large red barn, with the door swinging gently open in the breeze. The temperature caused his skin to form goose bumps, but it was not as nippy as Paris and the clouds were white and puffy as if they'd come directly from the ocean or bay.

"Keep walking," said the proprietor.

When Reed entered the barn, two men greeted him with shackles and he was dragged to a bale of hay. Another man wearing a striped suit of the highest fashion, with a pencil thin moustache, sauntered over to him with a glass in his hand.

"This vintage is one of my best," he said.

"What kind?" asked Reed. _It may help me figure out where I am._

"Cabernet."

"You are?" asked Reed.

"Miro. Welcome, Lt. Reed to my summer home," he said.

"Where am I?"

"Near San Francisco."

Malcolm frowned.

Miro said, "Thanks to you, we have a bargaining chip. This drama has played out so beautifully, like an opera. No?"

The man who owned the café nodded vigorously, which caused Reed to roll his eyes.

Miro smiled and pointed to one of his henchman, a man standing behind Reed.

"Contact Starfleet. Tell them unless they end the conference with those _aliens_, we'll kill their tactical officer."

Malcolm was about to speak, when Miro wagged his finger and spoke again.

"I doubt they'd want to get rid of a member of Section 31," the French man said.

Malcolm's jaw dropped by a mere fraction, which only made Miro smile more broadly, chuckling as he finished his glass.

---

Tucker finally got the call he had been expecting from day one of this ordeal, but he didn't receive it from the man he thought he would. Soval's face was on the screen, and he was waiting, patiently, for an answer to the question he brought up at least one minute ago.

What is the nature of your relationship with T'Pol? 

The blonde coughed for a moment, wondering exactly how to answer, mostly because it was damned confusing.

_Just dive in, Tucker, he thought._ It'd been the advice of his first SCUBA instructor when he'd complained about not being ready for his first Atlantic dive, and the information had paid off. With a deep breath, Trip began.

"T'Pol and I had … relations." It wasn't the first word that came to his mind, but sounded to him like one a Vulcan would use.

"And by relations, you mean you had a sexual relationship with her?"

"Yeah." And then his face turned crimson, and he explained more fully. "Well … it's complicated."

"She did not have an affair with Captain Archer?"

"No."

"You are certain?" asked Soval.

"Yeah."

Soval's eyebrow pointed into the air. "Commander, have you shared any thoughts with T'Pol through a meld or --?"

"Not on purpose."

"Explain."

"She said … we have a bond."

"You have a bond with her?"

It caused the Vulcan to lean in a little, and Tucker knew the man had been shocked – at least Vulcanly so.

"Well, we did," said Trip.

"I see. You do not currently have one?"

"No."

"What happened?"

"She has one with her daughter … and she said it caused her to have one with Captain Archer."

Before Soval could ask him, Trip's arms crossed his chest. "She developed one with him after she found out about their daughter. It ended the one with me."

"Your feelings for her now are--?"

"I love her."

"And she reciprocates?"

Tucker didn't think Vulcans cared one iota about love and feelings, but Soval was different; he knew them for one. _And, _he thought, _Soval is probably trying to get to the bottom of this whole perplexing thing. Hell, I'm glad someone is._

The blonde scratched his head.

"You know, Ambassador, I'm not sure if she reciprocates. To say our relationship has been confusing would be one hell of an understatement. I only know how I feel. I love her, and I'd do anything for her."

Soval pointed an eyebrow into the air, and he felt like tacking on something else.

"And I'd do anything for the cap'n, too."

"You explained your relationship with the admiral?" asked Soval.

"Yeah."

"What happened?"

"Admiral Gardner seemed to think I was covering for Captain Archer."

"You are not?"

"Of course not. Listen, I know it may be hard for someone like Drip … err, Admiral Gardner, to believe a grease monkey like me and a Vulcan can have something together, but we do or did or …. I can't explain it. It sure isn't logical. But it's there."

As if satisfied, Soval leaned back against his chair. "I believe you."

"At least someone does."

"I can appreciate your dilemma. However, given the nature of press' reaction to your captain and T'Pol, perhaps it is best to keep that information clandestine."

Tucker frowned. "You're probably right."

The Vulcan settled, fixing his robes about him. "Now, about who may have given Terra Prime the DNA of--"

"How'd you know?"

"A logical deduction, given the premise I assumed T'Pol and Captain Archer were guiltless."

The blonde widened his grin.

"Perhaps I can aid with that investigation as well," said Soval.

"Why are you helping us?" asked Trip.

Although he had more of a friendship with the Vulcan after their near-miss battle stuck squarely between Andorian and Vulcan starships, he thought this was above and beyond.

"It is imperative to work through this issue so that the coalition Mr. Samuels has discussed can continue."

Trip's cheeks sloped down. "I thought maybe you were being sentimental."

"Sentimental?" said Soval. Bristling for only a moment, he voice softened. "I owe Admiral Forrest my life. And, perhaps I have grown rather … fond of you all."

Beaming, Trip nodded. "We could use the help."

--

The room was large, like a conference room, and the leader of Terra Prime described a work of fiction (fiction, because the captain knew none of it was true) while pacing in front of him. When the lecture was over, the quizzing began and the captain, as if his heart wasn't in it, mimicked the information word for word – describing abuse, a lack of attachment to his child and a general disapproval of Vulcans.

Archer thought, _Revolting. All of it. _

In his mind, he heard the echo of T'Pol's voice. _You don't have to. Your reputation—_

He thought, _Just keep focusing on how to get out. _

It pissed him off that he had to say things that turned his stomach and it did bruise his pride that he would scar his reputation, but he'd do it. As he answered every question, he gazed over at his child sitting in a large black man's lap. The man held T'Les as if she like a monster rather than like a six-month old baby with a cherub face; he hadn't looked at her once and shoved the creature almost onto his knees, as far away from his body as possible.

That ticked off the captain possibly more than having to tell falsehoods that would tarnish the name Archer.

"I'll hold her," said Jon.

"Fine. Watson, give him his clone," said Paxton.

Taking her into his lap he continued to say what Paxton wanted to hear as he played with her toes, fingers and ears. T'Les seemed content, drooling eagerly, only adding to the irony.

"Are you ready, Archer?" asked Paxton.

Thinking these men would do good on their promise of killing T'Pol or hurting T'Les, a weak nod was all Archer could muster. The three stood, Watson took T'Les all too quickly, and they made their way into a small room where two men waited – a man with wiry gray hair and a PADD and an older gentleman, balding, holding a scanner. On entry, the man with a PADD immediately stood, his blue eyes shining.

"Captain Jonathan Archer?" he asked.

Jon glanced over at Paxton. "Yeah."

"Tom Foster. I'm a reporter at the _Seattle Times_. And this is Dr. Stan White. He's a friend of mine, a physician who wants to check up on your daughter. You don't mind do you?"

Archer shook hands, then Paxton and then Watson.

"No," said Archer.

When they were done with the introductions, they all sat and while Dr. White inspected T'Les; while Archer kept a distracted eye on her, Tom asked a series of questions.

"Captain, did you give your child to Terra Prime?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Why?" asked Tom.

"Because," he said. His eyes closed and then he looked at T'Les again. "Because I didn't want to keep her. She's an embarrassment."

When Archer's eyes fell back on Tom's he could see the man's lips twisted into a frown.

"Why is she unwanted?" asked Tom.

"She's part Vulcan."

"Kevin," said Tom, pointing to Watson, "told me you've been abusing your first officer."

Archer settled his stomach to keep from retching and then tightened his jaw. "I don't think she sees it as abuse. I think she likes it."

"You have a sexual relationship with her?"

"Yes."

"Do you care about her?" asked Tom.

"It's not that kind of relationship."

"What kind is it?"

"We like to think of it as … mutual gratification," said Archer.

Bile rose to his throat, and he swallowed it back down, staring at his child.

The answer didn't seem to make Tom happy either, and Archer couldn't blame him for looking at him with his lip curled in a sneer.

The questions continued to come, and his answers got more revolting. Playing the bigot, under Paxton's careful eye, Jon lied. At first he did so poorly, but when saw the leader of Terra Prime shake his head, his fibs improved.

At the end of the interview, the reporter across from him had changed his visage from mild disgust to overt hatred. When it was over, rather than shake hands again, Tom grabbed clumsily at his PADD and avoided eye contact.

"Stan, are you done?" asked Tom. "I'm ready to get out of here."

The doctor nodded. "DNA is a perfect match. She's Captain Archer and First Officer T'Pol's all right. A human-Vulcan baby. She's about six months old, more advanced than a human child, but not as advanced as a Vulcan one. Amazing."

Tom said, "Mind if I hold her for a second?"

He looked over to Archer who feigned a shrug. When Watson delivered T'Les into the reporter's arms, Tom talked about his own newborn.

"I have a son who's almost one now. But, I can remember when he was this size. So vulnerable and helpless. Didn't sleep through one single night until two months ago. She sleep okay?"

Archer shrugged. "I don't know."

Leaning down, Tom provided a smile and the little girl knotted her brow and then gave a gentle cry.

Almost instinctively Archer reached out for his daughter as Paxton's eyes narrowed. Tom slipped the girl into the captain's arms and the crying ceased almost right away.

"For a man who doesn't care about her, you seem like you know how to handle her," said Tom.

"I know how to handle children," he said. It was a lie, but it'd been heaped on so many others, it didn't seem like it mattered.

"Hmmm," said Tom. "She in good health, Doctor?"

"She's been well cared for. I don't know what exactly is normal for a Vulcan/human baby, but she seems fine."

The reporter collected his PADD and then Dr. White walked behind them as Watson joined to show them back to their shuttle. As soon as they'd left, Paxton turned on Archer and the captain felt obligated to explain.

"Instinct."

Paxton nodded and then stood. He said, "I don't like that Enterprise stirred up so much interest in Earth, but I'm sorry I've had to do these things to you."

"Had to?" asked Archer.

John Paxton puffed up his chest and walked a little closer to him.

"I hear there is a Vulcan saying that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one," said Paxton. "I'm doing this for Earth, to protect us."

"Protect _us_? Exploration is the most exciting thing that's happened to our race – the possibilities for mankind are endless."

"Exploration invited the Xindi. It will invite other invaders, war and disease. It hasn't been that long since World War III, Captain. It also hasn't been that long since Vulcans came here to tell us how to live our lives – _human_ lives. I'm here to liberate us."

Archer shook his head. "The Vulcans aren't here for tyranny. They're just as curious as we are, and by observing us, they can--"

"Vulcan rhetoric."

"That doesn't excuse what you did to my science officer and me --"

"Necessary. Besides I only tampered with who would be her father. We know she's been intimate with a human before – procreation between the two races is not far off."

"Don't you think that a child of two races will have the best of both worlds? Compassion and logic?"

Paxton shook his head. "The Vulcans have nothing to offer us. We shouldn't be involved in their planetary issues, and they shouldn't be involved in ours."

_There's no way to win with him._

For a split second, he thought about punching the man and making a break for it, but with his child in his arms he knew that kind of getaway was impossible without risking her harm. And that he simply couldn't do.

He held the infant to his chest a little tighter and she squeaked, delighted.

"Let's go back to your cell, Captain," said Paxton.

At gunpoint, Archer filed back into his cell with T'Les and the moment they entered, T'Pol closed in right away. Before Archer could do anything else, the metal door clanged shut.

"Damn," he said.

T'Pol reached her hand up to his cheek, cupping it. It was a move that didn't startle him nearly as much as it should've and right away he could hear her thoughts as clearly as his own, apologizing deep in her soul for the hit to his character.

"I'm sorry, Jonathan."

Her hand fell quickly, and he looked behind him, at the closed door again with a sigh.

"I don't suppose you found a way out?" he asked.

"No."

He frowned.

"Is T'Les all right? I felt her cry," she said.

"She seems fine," he said.

T'Pol gathered the child in her arms and took her to her shoulder for a hug. Resting her cheek against her daughter's, the Vulcan closed her eyes and swayed a little as if to cradle the girl. The scene made Archer a little weak in the knees and he crossed over to rub his child's back feeling the soft cotton surround chubby flesh.

"Maybe …," he said. Halting his words, he dropped his hand and looked into his science officer's eyes. "You know, maybe having a child on board would be possible if--"

She opened her eyes. "You know that wouldn't be for the best."

"It'd give me more opportunities to see her."

Waiting for a few seconds, he continued.

"And you," he said.

Her hand stroked the baby's hair and she countered him.

"This bond, our daughter … it has brought up confusing feelings for us," she said.

Archer narrowed his eyes and then focused back on the door, staring at it, hoping to get inspired on how to escape. His hand ran over the smooth metal, cold underneath his fingertips, tracing to the edges.

_You don't wish to talk about it? _she thought

"Not really," he said. Glancing back behind him, he saw the contraption that held his daughter. "Do you think we can short out the locking mechanism?"

"No."

Shaking her head, she told in her mind she'd already thought, prompting him to pace, hoping to notice every detail of the room. T'Pol put their daughter into the crib, ensuring to leave the crib open, and then sat down quietly.

Jon's feet took him to each wall, as he'd spy a weak spot or secret lever.

T'Pol said, "You may not want to talk about it, but--"

"What about this monitor?" he asked. "Does it cover anything we can use to--"

"No."

His cheek sloped down.

"I studied the room thoroughly. I saw no way out."

It didn't stop him, and like a caged animal, he crossed in front of the metal door several times gazing around it as if the way to get out would suddenly make itself known. After a few minutes of silence passed, finally T'Pol spoke.

"Jonathan, if we do get out of here--" 

"_When _we get out of here," he said.

"Very well – when. You and I will have a great deal to consider: how T'Les will be raised, how we will interact with her, how you and I will both be in her life …."

He said, "It doesn't have to get worked out now."

"No, but why avoid it?" When he stopped, just for a second and turned around, T'Pol continued. "We're not going anywhere."

_No, I suppose not, _he thought

With a frustrated sigh, he dragged his body over to hers, squashing the temptation to take another few turns in their small prison, and instead sat down next to her.

She tilted her head. "I would like to resign my commission with Starfleet."

"What?" he asked.

"Raising T'Les on a starship would be a mistake for her … and for us."

"Why?"

"A starship is no place for a child. You said so yourself, and I think if you look at the logic of the situation you'd see that is still true."

He was about to shake his head, when she addressed another problem.

"If we were in close proximity, our bond would grow in intensity."

"You don't know that."

"I do, and I think you do as well."

"But, the bond won't evaporate when you go to Vulcan, T'Pol."

"Or Earth. No."

"Could we remove it?" he asked.

"We would risk severing the bond with our child. Vulcan mothers keep the bond with their infants until their children can talk. Perhaps when she gets older, the link between us will fade."

He frowned and looked at his thumbs. "I never thought I'd be a father, but …. My dad … even though he was a famous scientist, he made sure I came first. He was the most important person in my life. I want to be that kind of man."

Is he also thinking of resigning? she thought. 

Archer said, "I couldn't be the kind of father I'd want to if I were captain and always away from her."

"What would you do?" she asked. "If we moved to Vulcan, what profession would you take up?" she asked.

"I don't know. I haven't given it much thought."

"If we were on Earth, I could teach at Starfleet. Perhaps you could do the same."

"Maybe," he said. "It _would_ be nice to live a few blocks from you two. That way I could see her more often … be there for her."

"Then the bond might grow," she said. Her voice sounded confused.

"I suppose." Gazing over her elf-like features, the ones that reminded him of his daughter, he posed a question to her. "What if the bond between us never fades?"

The two were silent, ruminating on that inquiry.

TBC


	12. Allergies and parenthood

A/N: I love but it's frustrating when it doesn't keep italics! Sorry if it's been hard to read thoughts; my intention has been to italicize them.

Also, Mayweather makes an appearance, albeit brief, in this chapter. That's for you, Neph!

--

Hoshi Sato combed through the list of mail – who sent what to whom and when – for a three-month period of time as Dr. Phlox studied a similar list for a different set of dates.

"Hard to spot anything suspicious," said Hoshi. "People sent so many things back to loved ones last year …."

She herself had arranged for special cargo to be sent to her parents while in the Expanse, a lock of hair inside a locket with her baby picture. It was a moment of weakness after the experience with Tarquin, but it made her feel better to let her mother and father know she was all right. The hair and locket were scanned because of the bio-matter and then approved to be sent on.

Phlox agreed. "It was a harrowing period of time. Dr. Lucas heard from me nearly every month, as did all of my wives and most of my children."

He gave an uneasy smile, not the extended one he often provided, and Hoshi's face gave way to one, too. She sometimes forgot he had a whole entourage of people waiting for him on Denobula, anxious about him. Sadly, he hadn't yet been back to see his extended family because of their missions.

"When are you going to get back to Denobula?" she asked.

"Soon. I was thinking about taking my next sleep cycle there." He must've seen her worry, because he shook his head. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be, Ensign."

After another 30 minutes of silence, suddenly Phlox gave an odd hum. Hoshi noticed out of the corner of her eye, the man tapped his chin thoughtfully as if he had a moment of enlightenment.

Phlox said, "There are individuals who have access to the captain and Commander T'Pol constantly, or their quarters. Perhaps it would be easier to concentrate on them."

She said, "That would leave everyone in the Bridge crew and you."

"Yes, as well as senior staff – like Commander Tucker."

"And Commander Kelby."

Phlox nodded. "And Chef, the sanitation crew and the Captain's Mess stewards."

She was about to roll her eyes and comment that everyone would be on the list, but she realized on a day-to-day basis – that was pretty much it. Out of hand, she would've liked to have ruled out the Bridge crew, but felt it was necessary to review their mail. Subconsciously, she decided maybe she'd spend more time on the Captain's Mess stewards and sanitation crew mostly because she didn't know them. Everyone else seemed fairly trustworthy.

"I'll look through the records of the sanitation crew," said Phlox. "Why don't you scan through the records of the stewards?"

She patted his arm and he provided her a grin.

---

Lt. Reed was highly allergic to many things, embarrassingly so – pineapple, dust, pollen, ragweed, grass, various medicines and hay. Sitting on a bale of a golden, scratchy substance, hands tied behind his back with pieces brushing up against him, drove him insane. Worse, much worse than the burlap sack over his head while traveling to San Francisco, was the feeling of the hay rubbing against his skin was causing small welts. He could feel several on his forearm rise and the need to itch them was overpowering.

As Miro and his men chatted about how successful the riots in Sausalito were, especially because so few people were hurt, Reed tested the knot at his hands.

_Wrapped tight._

Sitting there in allergy-agony, he heard them finally make the call to Starfleet saying they had him and watched them force a camera in his face, over his eye, to prove the threat was real and so was Malcolm. Putting out a cigarette, Miro spoke directly to the monitor in front of him.

"If you resume talks for the Coalition, we'll kill Lt. Reed. I expect to hear from you in two hours."

Gardner, who Reed could hear took the call personally, gave some vague statements about how Starfleet couldn't be threatened, and then how Miro and his men wouldn't get away with it before the screen faded to black.

At the end, Miro turned to Reed.

"You were very helpful."

Malcolm frowned and then finally decided to address his hypersensitivities.

"I'm allergic to hay. If I could be moved--" began Reed.

Even before he finished, Miro snapped his fingers as if to make the request happen. Suddenly, Reed yanked off the bale, crammed into a wooden chair and his hands were untied.

"We had to make it look convincing," said Miro. "Get this young man some ointment."

Malcolm tried not to seem too grateful and rubbed his wrists, attempting not to scratch his forearms.

"You came to find your friends – the captain who had a Vulcan child?" asked Miro.

The tactical officer nodded eventually, figuring there was little to lose, and then to his surprise the man who held him captive clucked his tongue as if disgusted himself.

"Stealing a man's DNA is no way to tell the aliens to leave. I dislike the trespass."

"You just said you'd kill me," said Reed. "Seems a bit of a trespass to me."

Miro said, "You are ridiculous. We wouldn't kill you."

"You said--" said Reed.

"Idle threats. You have nothing to fear, Mr. Reed."

"What will you do with me?" asked Reed.

"Keep you here until they cave. And we know they'll capitulate. We've been monitoring how they conduct business. At the very least they'll postpone the meeting, sending a message to the aliens. That's all we want."

"Why kidnap me?"

"You are a symbol. As a hero of the Expanse you represent Enterprise and everything it stands for – exploration, alien introduction." Crossing, dusting a piece of hay from his expensive suit, Miro smiled. "We don't hate Andorians, Denobulans or even the Vulcans, but we don't want to be attacked again. Staying out of interplanetary affairs is really in our best interest."

Reed shook his head. "Just because we're not involved doesn't mean they won't seek us out."

Miro fished into his pocket and withdrew a cigarette. "But, that's not true. After Cochran launched his ship into space and achieved warp – that's when the Vulcans came. After we visited a sanctuary in P'Jem, that's when the Andorians began to pester us. We have a large solar system and are still finding out about it, even the seas of our own planet. Why travel half way across the universe when there's so much still to learn at home?"

A henchman brought the lieutenant some ointment and Reed gently rubbed it onto his skin with a single, yet gracious nod.

"After I have my meal, I'll come back and continue this discourse with you, Mr. Reed," said Miro. "May I bring you anything back?"

"My freedom?"

Miro chuckled. "You have a good sense of humor for an Englishman. Paul, Andre, stay and watch our friend."

With that, the proprietor of the café, Miro and a few henchman headed out of the barn and presumably back to the house. Reed looked at the two men guarding him – both were taller than Tucker or Captain Archer, outweighing his commanding officers by more than fifty pounds … and the henchmen were holding phase pistols. Reed decided to bide his time thinking of a plan.

---

T'Pol rested her eyes, thinking, while Archer's feet padded in front of her. The Vulcan pried one lid open to see the worry gathered on his face and understood what riffled through his brain – thoughts of escaping, curiosity about his daughter and fatherhood and puzzlement over a bond that may last forever. A bundle of nerves, he continued to skulk in front of her as if walking would alleviate the problems.

She opened both eyes, quietly regarding him.

Occasionally, he stopped in front of T'Les' crib and peered in, watching his child with satisfaction and then turned to look back at T'Pol.

After doing so for what seemed like the thousandth time, she halted him.

"Jonathan."

He stopped immediately and apologized. "Sorry."

Just as he was about to say something else, the door slid open. A large black man with the name Watson on his uniform appeared holding a tray of food. Two guards filed in holding weapons drawn while he set the tray down on the ground.

"We know Vulcans like vegetarian dishes," he said.

"What about T'Les?" she asked.

"Her feeding tube is there," he said. His finger pointed to a tube, plastic, that would force liquid down the girls' throat. "You can use that when she gets hungry."

It earned a frown from Archer. "That's inhumane."

"Your clone isn't human," said Watson.

"Maybe not a full human, but you shouldn't treat any being that way."

Watson didn't respond, lifting the lids from their containers.

Feeling perturbed, Archer closed in on the man straightened, narrowed his eyes and flared his nostrils, but Watson stood taller and didn't back down.

_Jonathan, _T'Pol thought. _Vulcans use a similar device; although it is not preferable, she'll be fine._

"And what if we need to go to the bathroom?" said Archer.

Annoyed, the black man tossed out a small device with a button.

"Contact me when you need to go," he said.

With that, the entire group left and Archer blew out a frustrated sigh watching the door close again. T'Pol looked over at her meal: edible. Thinking of food prompted a curious notion.

"How often do human infants eat?" she asked.

"I don't know – several times a day?" Then concern spread over his face. "She hasn't eaten, has she?"

"And she's not hungry." When the Vulcan felt her heart beat faster, a response from her captain about the worrying news, she took a deep and calming breath.

She said, "Vulcan children eat only three times a day. Perhaps she inherited my metabolism?"

The walked over to the crib and stared down at their daughter. T'Pol reached her hands around the infant and cradled the child to her, reading her mind, while Archer flipped a couple of buttons – clearly labeled – to begin feeding her.

Slowly, as if groggy, the little girl came awake and stared at T'Pol. Out of instinct, the Vulcan swayed a little, cooing in her mind to comfort her baby.

_It's all right,_ she thought. _I know the noise is loud, even to your minute Vulcan ears, but it will bring nourishment._

Archer unraveled the plastic tubing, with a frown, and then walked up to his daughter to put it to her lips. The girl fussed, turning her head from one side to another.

"She's not hungry," said T'Pol.

Rubbing his hand against the opening he collected enough goo on his index finger and then smeared some on her lips. A tiny tongue swept up to collect the mixture.

"Maybe she just doesn't like the tube?" he asked. "Not that I blame her."

"Try to place the tube against her lips again," said T'Pol.

He did and again the girl wiggled in her mother's grasp. For a moment, the parents looked at each other, wondering whether they should continue to spread formula on their fingers and feed her.

"I don't think she's hungry," he said. "Maybe we should just wait until she's is?"

"Yes, perhaps that's for the best," said T'Pol."

With a few switches, Archer turned it off, hung up the tubing and then turned around again. "Have you changed her since we got here?"

The Vulcan placed her fingers along the bottom of her daughter's cotton coveralls and shook her head.

"No, although she does not seem to need new clothing."

"Do Vulcans cry when they need something?" he asked.

"Not typically. It is why parents and children have bonds; it helps us understand their needs."

His hand caressed T'Les' hair. "She seems to sleep pretty well. Although, I have to say, it's a little discerning to see her eyes closed like that makes we want to keep watching her to ensure everything's okay."

T'Pol nodded, even if she thought it was illogical she had similar thoughts.

"Think she needs more sleep?" he asked.

"Unknown. She seems not to require it."

"Want me to hold her while you eat?" he asked.

T'Pol thought about declining the offer, but wondered if human contact would help T'Les, who was at least half-human, and the child's father. Carefully, she slipped her daughter into his arms. Instead of cradling her, he took her to his chest and pressed her face against his shoulder as he made small circles on her back and sat down.

A strange notion came over T'Pol as she too sat down and took a bite of salad into her mouth.

_I could get used to having a family._

The idea came over her so suddenly and completely it forced her to stop eating. With the most peculiar of pangs, though, she watched her friend and her child sharing a moment. His eyes half-lidded and a lazy smile on his face as he looked at T'Les while their daughters' eyes drifted to sleep funneled warmth down her spine and into her stomach.

_I could_, she thought again.

Setting down her fork, she rubbed her thumb over her index and middle finger, pondering whether she should hold them out for him. Although he was not her mate, the moment and the more hurried beating of her heart, made her want to touch her fingers to his.

As she stared down at her food, determining the most logical course of action, his hand went to her back and made a circle just as it did for their daughter.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

When she turned to him, she saw him resting against the wall, T'Les sprawled against his chest with one hand holding her in place by her bottom. The girl's tiny fingers gripped his shirt – the one Terra Prime had given him – clinging to it, to her father.

And then realization passed between them – her feelings, despite trying to keep them from their bond, made their way to him. She heard his breath become more labored for a moment and before she had a chance to explain, his hand left her back.

He said, "When I saw you and T'Les earlier …." He sighed. "Watching you hold my child, our child, filled me with admiration, friendship, hope and other emotions that are hard for me to define or understand."

She closed her eyes and shared in his memory – the feeling of having a lump in his throat and the idea that maybe he'd put his arms around both T'Pol and T'Les, his makeshift family.

He said, "I think it's normal to have those feelings about fatherhood and me."

T'Pol noticed her mouth turned down ever so slightly.

His hand swept over her back again. "It's all right."

"I am beginning to believe that sharing a bond …. It has not been as much of an inconvenience as I previously thought."

A faint smile spread across his face. "I'm not sure it has either."

"Sharing my thoughts with a friend has been comforting."

"I think so, too."

"Perhaps if we live on Earth, teaching at Starfleet, and if our bond is permanent …. Perhaps you and I could share an abode?"

A furrow worked over his brow, and she was about to clarify her point when T'Les woke up with a small cry and launched spittle over Archer's shoulder and onto back. Gently removing her, he held her out examining her and put her into his lap.

"There is something wrong with her?" asked T'Pol.

"I think she just had gas."

T'Pol's hand ran over her daughter and she felt warm flesh beneath her fingertips.

"She seems warm," she said.

He pressed his lips against her forehead and frowned. "Maybe a little. I don't know. I'm not sure what temperature she's supposed to be."

Rising, the two of them took their daughter to the crib and laid her down. T'Pol worked her fingers over a few dials of the contraption next to the crib and watched data pop onto a display, something she realized as a scientist she should've done sooner.

_You were too busy being a mother, _thought Archer_. Don't be so hard on yourself._

While he used a cloth to wipe up T'Les' mouth and then his shoulder, she reviewed the information.

Their child had copper blood and a temperature somewhere between a human and Vulcan. The rest of the readings seemed just as confounding and T'Pol had to admit, she had no idea exactly what _normal _was for T'Les. Even her training in gene study hadn't produced definitive information about hybrids, particularly any of the Vulcan race; it was reduced to mostly animals.

"Human babies throw up," said Archer.

"Vulcan children rarely do."

"I guess you must have better digestive systems."

As T'Pol huddled over T'Les' crib to watch her daughter again, she felt an arm wrap around her shoulder.

"I'm sure she'll be all right," he said. "Being a parent, I'm sure to anyone who's ever been one, feels helpless."

T'Les gurgled, kicked her legs, and closed her eyes.

"Perhaps," said T'Pol.

---

Tucker took a turn around the bridge. It must've been one too many times because Mayweather glanced back, annoyance marring his typically jubilant face.

"Sir?" he asked.

"Sorry, I was just thinking we should've heard from Malcolm by now."

"He was going to call while on bereavement leave?" asked Travis.

That's when Trip gave an uneasy smile, gave a sharp nod, and then excused himself into the Ready Room. There he decided to check in with Hoshi and Phlox. His fingers spread across the keyboard.

"Tucker to Sickbay."

A chipper voice answered. "Phlox here. Go ahead, Commander."

"Ya'll find anything?"

Phlox said, "Not yet. However, we have decided to pare down our search significantly."

"Good. I'd like to hear an update in four hours. Tucker out."

With the click of a button, he cut off his comm and leaned back in his seat. Restless, he fired up Archer's monitor and queued up the latest news from Earth – a luxury he had being so close to the planet and having the captain's special access, the one Archer had gained through his connections.

Hot off the press, headlines streamed to the top of his screen, pushing away old data.

What Tucker saw made him bolt out of his seat.

_"Vulcan/Human Hybrid Confirmed, a discussion with Captain Archer"_

In the article a reporter unveiled information so confounding it made Trip swear. Several times. In the one-on-one interview, with a picture of the captain wearing a white Nehru collared-shirt and slacks – something that made him look official even while being casual, information was revealed that had to be untrue: rape, child abandonment, prejudice and more. It painted the picture of a man with a lifetime grudge against Vulcans, a captain further hardened by the Expanse and a beautiful science officer at his side during a long voyage who he couldn't help but violate from the very beginning. It even drew connections of why Commander T'Pol hadn't left before – after the original mission to return Klang was complete or after (what the Vulcans considered was a mishap) P'Jem.

It turned Trip's stomach, and he forced himself to read on.

Oddly enough, the story didn't end with the interview; almost like an opinion or editorial, the journalist conveyed his own recollections. The article went on to describe a scene of Captain Archer wanting to comfort his crying child, and the baby finding it in his arms.

It left the reporter with more questions, unanswered ones.

"_Why was Captain Archer on Terra Prime? Starfleet would've had him in custody if any of the information exposed was true. And why did Archer want to comfort his own child, one he admitted to hating? Why did the child end her tears?"_

Maybe the correspondents' questions weren't answered, but Trip's were. And he saw the picture all too clearly: Terra Prime had kidnapped his captain and T'Pol. Just as the blonde was about to contact Admiral Gardner, he heard Crewmen Patton – the gamma shift Communications Officer – beep him.

"Yes?" said Tucker.

"Sir, Admiral Gardner is on the line for you."

"Patch him through."

A visage of the Drip popped onto the screen and by the frown on his face, Tucker knew he'd just heard the news, too.

"Commander, I think I was wrong about the captain and Commander T'Pol," said Gardner.

"You read the news?" asked Tucker. Although he shouldn't have access to it, Trip decided mentioning it was the least of their problems.

"I read it," said Gardner. "I've sent a team to the moon. I think they have the captain and commander."

"You gonna issue a statement to the press?"

"Not until we hear something."

"Public opinion would've already been swayed. Hell, I'm sure they think the story about the captain forcing himself on her is true."

"I understand what's at stake, but we can't release any information without the facts."

Trip nodded and then waited for the screen to fade, and frowned when it didn't. "Sir?"

Gardner said, "Commander, I have some more bad news."

"What's that?"

"Lt. Reed has been captured. This group is threatening to kill him if we don't put an end to the conference."

"You sure they got Malcolm?"

"Yes."

"And they want to end the Coalition of Planets talks?"

Gardner nodded and said, "We don't know where the lieutenant is, but I have some of my top men looking into it."

Trip was silent, stewing with concern over his buddy and the danger he inadvertently put him in.

"Why was he on Earth?" asked Gardner.

"Funeral."

The admiral frowned. "That's too bad. Awful timing. I'll let you know when I hear something."

"Yes, sir."

"In the meantime, I'd like you to launch an investigation. Assuming Captain Archer and Commander T'Pol are innocent, it seems someone onboard Enterprise provided Terra Prime their DNA. I'd like to find out who."

Trip gave a smile, although it wasn't as triumphant as it would've been under normal circumstances.

He said, "Already working on it, Admiral."

"Excellent." Gardner nodded. "Keep up the good work."

Before the monitor went black, Tucker leaned in. "Sir, keep me updated will ya?"

The admiral gave a single nod before cutting out.

TBC


	13. Fatigue, Excalibur and Kelby

If anyone had told Jonathan Archer that he'd be able to curl up and take a nap while in a cell, trapped by a madman who held his family … he would've thought them insane. And yet, with the gentle hum of T'Les' crib, having a small meal laying in his stomach and having stayed up the equivalent of two days straight, he fell asleep. Tired, abnormally so. Sacked out.

He'd explained to T'Pol he was going to take a catnap, but suddenly after closing his eyes he fell into a dreamless sleep, one so heavy, his first officer had to shake him awake.

"Huh?" he asked.

"Our daughter is still asleep."

"That's a good thing, right?"

"It has been three hours." A frown barely worked across her face. "She still hasn't eaten and her clothing is dry."

"You said she had your metabolism."

"Yes."

"Then?"

"Something … something seems wrong."

Through his bond, Jonathan stilled his mind and tried to reach out to grasp the line that he'd come to know as T'Les. He could tell his little girl was bushed.

He shook his head.

"Perhaps you can look into my thoughts?" she asked.

Through the bond, he poked and felt her concern and then something experienced that same worn out feeling. Obviously he wasn't grasping the severity of the situation, because T'Pol shook her head.

"May I?" she asked.

Her hands wiggled near the pulse points of his face and the captain asked, unconvinced.

"I thought you were unaware of mindmelds?"

"Since my meld with Ensign Sato, I have been reading more from the Kir'Shara. I believe I have the technique."

With a single nod, he closed his eyes as he heard the familiar Vulcan chant.

"My mind, to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts. Our minds are merging," said T'Pol.

"Our minds are one," he whispered.

Like his last meld with T'Pau, he saw fog – the pea soup variety – so thick he couldn't see his own hand stretching out in front. And yet, unlike last time, the sound of Vulcan words and mathematical symbols did not rush over him with distance, cold and calculating. Instead, he had the strangest sensation of warmth – a rush of heat. Suddenly staring into the heavens above, he saw a sun so bright it would burn his eyes simply by glancing at it. And yet, it didn't – instead a film that resembled sunglasses passed over his lenses allowing him to stare at the orange orb floating in a red sky.

His skin tingled from the dry desert air, drifting across his arms and rustling his hair, and for a moment he believed he was in a city – a bustling one, making his way to her childhood home on the verge of a city that expanded in a circular pattern forever. Swooping down, as if in a shuttle, he pinpointed a house that reminded him of a pagoda, with marvelous gardens and a gong.

_Shi'Kahr. T'Pol's home._

Low ringing rang in his ears, and he saw priests carrying incense spreading into the arid atmosphere, swaying them back and forth – honoring logic and Surak. And then as if walking through a temple, he saw statues of the father of logic – tall and proud, like the katra he'd met. Something in him stirred, a memory, and he reached over to the touch the resemblance, his hand shaped in a "v," before it vanished.

V'Lar stood in front of a room of more than two hundred Vulcans, all of whom sat ramrod still – fingers forming temples under their chin to decipher the information. As his eyes scanned the classroom, he saw a young woman – hair shaped in a perfect bowl – wearing robes the color of water, standing out from everyone else who were adorned in browns like the sand. T'Pol. Her slim eyebrow poked itself into the air as she jotted down information, making sweeping swirls with lines through it – the Vulcan language. He was about to sit next to her when the scene changed yet again.

Suddenly, he found himself in a jazz bar, one he guessed was on Earth with human couples holding hands, friends talking over the music and a waitress who carried alcoholic beverages to tables for consumption. The music, tinny flourishing in erratic patterns, was wondrous and unlike any jazz he'd ever experienced. Yet, he was certain he knew the song.

This was rush of images, it was the essence of T'Pol.

He thought, Your mind— Focus on our daughter, she thought back. 

He imagined a heartbeat thudding, quickly, and two large curious green eyes.

_T'Les. _

There were complex emotions there, behind the little pout his daughter gave. It felt like struggle.

_Struggle for what? he asked._

Her baby arms barely lifted themselves out for him and he took her to his chest.

"What's wrong?" he heard himself ask aloud. "Do you need to be held?"

_Struggle, thought T'Pol._

With a deep breath, he threw himself head long into the emotion and let it consume him. Stifled for breath, weary as if needing to sleep he could tell his daughter was groggy. Weariness became exhaustion. Like gravity boots weighing down bones, she was unable to move. Slowing the blinking of her eyes, her lids fought to stay open, and yet she could only allow them to drift closed.

Hazy, unable to focus on the world around her, she shivered with cold.

When he opened his eyes, he saw T'Pol and she lowered her hand.

"She's ill," said T'Pol.

"Yes," said Archer. A frown spread over his mouth. _Maybe she's why I'm so tired._

T'Pol's hands left his face, and T'Pol immediately stood and marched over to the crib to retrieve her infant. After holding her for a few moments, pressing her cheek against T'Les', she placed their girl in the crib and fired up the machine.

Finally, standing upright, he made his way over to the plastic crib. Without a moment's thought, he tucked the crown of T'Pol's head under his chin.

"We'll find out what it is and get Phlox to help her."

Instead of feeling his first officer struggle, she caved into him and leaned her back against his chest. So, he drew his arms around her.

"You are weary as well," she said.

"I think it's been T'Les." Whispering against her hair, he told her what she already knew. "You're tired, too."

"Yes."

And then the two separated as T'Pol performed various scans, her hands a little frantic despite the exhaustion. Meanwhile, Archer reached his finger into the crib and traced his daughter's cheek.

"Hang on," he thought. He was too hopeful and too confident in T'Pol's skills to be discouraged.

---

Phlox and Hoshi came up with a short list of people who should be questioned, and Tucker – riled up – was willing to put the thumbscrews on in order to get to the bottom of things. He had the names of a one steward, two MACOs, one sanitation crewman and Commander Kelby. Trip decided to start with Kelby.

When the chime rang, Trip straightened and frowned.

"Come in," he said.

A small man with blue eyes and a nervous smile that quickly faded walked in.

"You wanted to see me?" asked Kelby.

"Yeah. Sit down, lieutenant," said Trip.

The man bristled at the rank and Tucker corrected himself. "Sorry, Commander. Old habits."

Kelby didn't look convinced, not that Trip really cared.

Trip tossed a PADD onto the desk and in front of the engineer. "You sent cargo in March while we were in the Expanse. What was it?"

"Sir, that was a little over a year ago--"

"It was something that required a bio-scan."

He shrugged. "Can't remember."

"You only had one package that required a bio-scan."

Kelby shook his head. "Sorry, sir."

"You know Starfleet believes Captain Archer and Commander T'Pol's DNA was stolen?"

"Really?"

"Yeah." Trip said, "We were looking for folks who had regular access to them."

Kelby crossed his arms. "I think the first time I interacted with Captain Archer was when you transferred to the Columbia and promoted me."

Eyeing the young man, the chief engineer frowned.

Trip said, "If you tell me now, I'll make sure Starfleet is lenient with you."

"Sir?"

"You know what a sentence like this could do? You'd get a jail cell in Starfleet prison for the rest of your days, Commander. That is – unless you come clean."

"I've told you the truth," said Kelby. His face reddened.

Trip was about to retort, when Kelby cut in. "You've been riding my ass ever since you've come back aboard."

"That's 'cuz you tried to sabotage Enterprise … or don't you remember?"

"Nearly everyone was affected by the Orions' pheromones … including the _captain_. He absolved me of any wrong doing. What's your problem?"

Trip stood, staring down at the pipsqueak. "Kelby, I gave you that promotion because--"

"I think you wanted Captain Archer to find fault with me. Hess was first in line."

"You didn't turn it down."

"No, sir." With a sigh, Kelby stared at Trip, his eyes squinting. "I've already put in for a transfer with Gardner himself. Seems the Columbia could use an engineer."

When the commander got up, without being dismissed, Trip put a hand on his shoulder, forcing him back into his chair.

"Sit down, mister, I'm not done with you," said Trip.

"I'm done with you, _sir_."

With a long sigh, Tucker eased up a little. "You wanna know why I gave you a break, Kelby?"

The commander was silent.

Trip said, "You remind me of … me."

"Sir?"

"When I worked for Captain Jeffries, he always had the highest expectations for me. And at first, when he was around I couldn't seem to hold a spanner without dropping it. He rode my ass, too … made me a better engineer. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him. I don't have fancy Starfleet Academy credentials. I just worked hard. Worked my ass off."

"If you thought I was qualified, why didn't you let me do my job?"

"Because you still have something to learn." Trip leaned against the desk and folded his arms. "Kelby … level with me. Did you do this?"

"No, sir."

"Do you know who did?"

"No, sir."

Trip picked up the PADD and forced it in front of Kelby. "The cargo you sent on had trace amounts of Vulcan DNA in it. At the time they let it through because … well … after the Xindi reptiles attacked us, we found all kinds of blood on uniforms, floors …."

Kelby was quiet.

Trip said, "While I'm questioning everyone else, I'm gonna ask security to keep you confined to quarters."

Just as Trip turned his back, Kelby leaned in and spoke. "I didn't do it."

The chief engineer's thumb was on the comm. "Standard procedure."

Security guards muzzled into the room and Kelby, throwing a glare at Tucker, was led away. After the door closed, Trip swore under his breath.

---

Reed closed his eyes for several hours, thinking -- almost on the verge of dozing off. In his training, he couldn't remember if it was Starfleet Academy or Section 31, he'd learned to get out of tough scrapes like the one he was in. There was always a moment of opportunity his instructors had said, and they were right; now, he was just biding his time until he found it.

With his eyes shut, he focused on his hearing which was better when deprived of sight, and he strained his ears hoping to catch a sound that would clue him into Rachel. Listening to the late night noises, crickets chirping and an occasional dog howling on the wind, he eventually heard rustling.

Opening his eyes, thinking it might be Miro back from dinner, he thought he caught a glimpse of something moving in the barn itself.

Wait until I see the figure. That's the time to act! 

One of the henchmen turned. "Miro?" he asked.

A phase pistol immediately felled him and before the other had time to draw his weapon, the other man was felled, too.

"You look all blotchy," said a voice. It was feminine and sarcastic, which in Reed's mind told him it was her.

"I'm allergic to hay," said Reed. "Took you long enough to get here."

Rachel emerged from behind a bale – dressed in a black cat suit with her ebony hair tucked into a dark cap. With a small smile, she put her pistol at her waist and grabbed his hand.

"I was following Instructor Rojin's training: waiting for the element of surprise."

Reed nodded.

"We got to get outta here," she said.

"Don't have to tell me twice," said Reed.

The two tip-toed out of the barn, looking back at the farm house with the lights on, French music playing and laughter coming out.

"Miro likes to eat late," she said.

He whispered into the dark. "I was bait all along!"

Rachel crouched down, out of the light of the house and crawled into the vineyards. When she was a good distance away, she brought out her scanner and waved it low into the air.

"Where we going?" he asked.

"My shuttle."

"Why didn't they didn't detect it?" asked Reed.

"Jammed their signal."

"Why didn't you jam their signal when they were threatening Starfleet?"

She fixed her cap, ignoring him when he took her arm. "Rachel?"

"You know better than I there are certain things that prompt Starfleet into action."

He frowned when she continued. "When we get aboard my shuttle, you can tell Starfleet to provide the coordinates to Miro's place. Then, the conference will resume."

"Miro will escape," said Reed.

"Not we hurry." With a smirk she continued. "That means stop asking me questions."

After crawling out of sight, the two tore down the field for what felt like forever until they saw a small silver vehicle shimmering in the moonlight. The words on the side of her shuttle were barely visible.

"The Excalibur" 

He gave her a twisted grin, about to comment on her love of Camelot tales, which he'd forgotten all about, when she shut him up with a single look.

---

After a few hours, T'Pol tried to make sense of all the data, analyzing it over and over, wracking her weary brain to come up with what may be wrong with her little girl. She could tell Archer was hatching a plan to escape, one that kept him occupied despite his worry and anxiety; focusing on something seemed to help both of them keep trained on the task at hand.

_I don't know what normal vital signs for a hybrid look like. _

Mentally, she made a list of what she did know. T'Les' organs were all formed and seemed to be functioning, something she considered the greatest risk for the first human/Vulcan child. Heart rate was … well, her heart was beating.

She also knew her child hadn't eaten for sometime, but wasn't hungry. The infant had not discharged urine or feces, but had thrown up. And then it hit her. Striding over to the cloth, the one Archer had used to wipe spittle from his baby's mouth and shoulder, she felt a frown worm its way onto her face.

It should've raised a red flag earlier.

"What's wrong?" Archer asked.

T'Pol carried the cloth over to him and he stared at it.

"What?"

"The formula T'Les drank is white. What's here is yellow – darkly so."

She could sense he thought about the last time he'd seen baby's puke and thought it looked fairly normal.

"It does, for a human," she said. "Our daughter has my physiology – copper-based blood. A Vulcan's bile is not this color."

"Then what's wrong with her?" he asked with alarm.

"Perhaps she has contracted a disease from us?" she asked. "She's been in incubation for so long without the touch of humans …."

And before she could finish her sentence, she watched her commander take a clumsy step backward.

"We caused this?" he asked.

T'Pol's eyes turned toward the ground. "It could've been us, the reporter you spoke to, the doctor, Paxton or Watson …. It could've been anyone she's come into contact with."

Hands traveled over his face, as if to burry it for a moment and T'Pol knew sorrow and guilt crept up from his stomach, threatening to strangle his heart. When he looked at her again, she felt the need to go to him – not because he wore pain, but because he didn't.

"I am just as distressed as you, but--" she began.

Before she could finish, his fingers wrapped around her shoulders, drawing her closer and she looked up at him, her lips parted. The two stared at each other, both feeling the other's pain. Gently, he brought her to his chest and rested his chin on her head.

"We're getting out of here," he said. "We're getting out of here _right now_."

T'Pol understood her commanding officer, with the bond in place, better than she ever had. As if a faucet had been twisted counter-clockwise, he'd turned off his emotions just as she imagined he had many times before – especially in the Expanse. With a force that felt like a metal cage had been snapped, despite his fatigue, he went into action.

After parting from her, he picked up the device on the floor, the one Watson gave him if they had to go to the bathroom, and shoved his thumb against it. Although his plan hadn't been fully thought out, he decided the two of them would improvise, and T'Pol could only nod her head in agreement.

"Grab T'Les," he said.

She saw the steeliness in his eyes, and without a moment's hesitation she took her daughter to her chest.

TBC


	14. Underwear and cookies

Tucker called in the next suspect, a MACO – one he knew personally: Corporal Amanda Cole. He was a bit nervous at seeing her, and despite the year that had gone by since she tried to kiss him, he decided sitting behind the desk would make him feel more in comfortable, more in command.

When she entered, escorted by security, he offered her a seat.

"Thanks," she said.

A smile spread over her lips, and his stomach clenched.

Trip said, "I'm interviewing people who sent something, cargo, during the Expanse that needed to be viewed using the bio-scanner. And your name is on the list. You remember what you sent?"

"You don't want to know."

Tucker crossed his arms. "I do, actually."

"No, I mean … it's embarrassing."

"What is it?"

Cole sunk further into her seat and shook her head.

"Corporal?" he asked.

"It's just …."

"Do I have to give you an order?" he said.

"No?"

"Amanda."

"Underwear."

She ducked her face into her hand, and without further ado she explained the situation.

"I was dating someone on Earth. Someone who broke up with me, someone I cared about, in fact it was right before you and I--"

He twirled his fingers in the air to speed the discussion along.

"Anyway …. I was mad and …. oh, God." Shaking her head, she forced a deep breath into her lungs. "Anyway, he bought them for me, so I was returning them."

"I see."

And then Trip realized for the first time that evening, he would have to do some tricky dancing around this delicate topic: Archer's DNA showed up in the contents of that package.

"Were you and the captain …?"

"What?"

"Involved?"

"Involved?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"No."

"Really?"

"No."

"Really?"

She said louder, "No."

"When your … uhm, personal items were scanned .…." Now, he took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. "We found Captain Archer's DNA in that package."

Her face turned red. "I don't know how that happened. Maybe I shook his hand before taking it to cargo?"

_Not possible._ "Maybe something else was in there?" he asked.

Her eyes drifted into her forehead and she searched her memory and then nodded. "I had two other items – a book and a data chip. The book was on the shelf in the gym – maybe it was his? I think it was his."

"Think about returning it?" he asked.

Sighing, Amanda shook her head. "Okay, I'll tell you, but this is going to sound strange …."

_Can't get much stranger._

She said, "I wanted my old boyfriend to think …. I wanted my old boyfriend to think the captain and I were an item. So, I took the captain's book from the gym and slipped it into the package. It was a book about … exploring. I thought the title sounded suggestive, so I included it. And there could be no mistaking it was his, his signature was in the book."

"Why?"

"I wanted to break his heart."

"Amanda."

"Well, it's true. I'm not proud of it, but … hopefully that satisfies your questions."

"What's the name of this beau? We want to check it out."

"Huh?"

"The name of your old boyfriend. What's his name?"

"Chad Seymour."

"What does he do?"

"Firefighter."

"Where?"

"New York City."

He nodded and then a thought struck him. Although nothing really happened between he and Amanda, he wondered if maybe she'd taken the fact he shacked up with T'Pol as a grudge.

_Great, so Kelby has a grudge against me and Cole might have a grudge against T'Pol. Swell._

Pushing his thumb against the comm, he explained everything as he did to Kelby.

"You'll be confined to quarters until we get to the bottom of this."

"Haven't I explained everything?" she asked.

"Ya did. We're just following procedure. That's all."

She frowned and then opened her mouth as if there was more to say. Trip held his hands up and suggested she save it.

"I won't mention anything to Captain Archer." _If you turn out to be guiltless that is._

"Thanks, Trip."

Guards took her away and after the door closed he leaned against the desk. "This is going to be harder than I thought."

--

Watson opened the door to the cell and Archer gave him a tight smile, watching the two guards that flanked him.

"You said you'd take me to the restroom?" said Archer.

"Come on," said Watson. He waved his hand, urging him forward and Archer rubbed his stomach.

"Whatever I ate didn't agree with me," he said.

Turning his head, he heard T'Pol's voice deep within his mind give the go ahead and he double over for a second. It was just enough time for her to get behind one of the larger guards and deliver a neck pinch. The commotion of the man dropping to the floor alerted Watson and before he could do anything, T'Pol leveled a gun at him, child in her arms. Meanwhile, the captain delivered a punch to the man beside him and after a few belts delivered by both men the two were sent sprawling to the ground, gun scattering beyond their reach. Archer crawled to him and provided a sleeper hold just as T'Pol clicked her weapon at Watson.

_You all right? he thought._

_Yes, you?_

He dabbed the back of his knuckles against his lip and pulled back to see his own blood.

"Yeah, let's get moving."

T'Pol fired the rifle at Watson, one on stun, and the two took off down the hall. Rounding bend after bend, Archer finally watched her trotting next to him barely breaking a sweat. They were at least twenty minutes away from the shuttle – much too long for her to continue to hang behind for him.

He said, "I want you to run as fast as possible back to the shuttle. Do you understand?"

"But--"

Shaking his head he thought the words. _T'Pol, I know you can outrun me. _

"I can't leave you."

Jon's voice grew stern. "You're her mother."

"You're her father. I'm not leaving you."

_T'Pol! _

A frown threatened her face and she closed her eyes for a moment before sprinting off. As he watched her heels kick up behind her, vanishing, he decided to make the most of lagging behind. Taking a turn around the next junction, he stopped long enough to tap into one of the communication panels and take it offline, disabling any alarm that could be triggered. Just as he was about to enter the same elevator shaft he took to arrive in the core facility, he saw a man with a phase pistol appear suddenly, the weapon drawn and leveled at him.

"Not so fast, Archer," said a deep voice.

When the figure stepped into the light, he saw the leader of Terra Prime smiling.

And then four more henchmen came out of the shadows, one shoving T'Pol forward with T'Les in her arms. The captain bristled at the motion and John Paxton shook his head.

"You must really think we're stupid," said Paxton. "We've been monitoring you from the moment you entered the cell."

"Let T'Pol and my daughter go. I'll do anything you want."

"Your binary clone will die anyway."

"You knew she would?" asked Archer.

"Of course. What good is a cute baby to us, compared to a story of a captain, a hero, who's been violating his science officer and committed infanticide? The fact she existed at all embarrassed Starfleet enough. A doctor confirmed her identity. Now, we have no use for her."

Fury welled up in the captain, one that he wasn't able to contain – feeding it was T'Pol's rage channeling toward him, mixing with his own. Red-faced, Archer pointed at T'Les.

"She hasn't done anything to you! She didn't ask to be born. You caused this!"

"Captain, this isn't a single battle. This is a war. A war to keep Earth for Terrans. And as Colonel Green believed, sometimes in war, the innocent must die. It's a shame, but it keeps the breed pure and keeps our planet safe from harm."

"You think letting our child die will help you win your war?" Archer's voice shook. "You're right. Aliens will become our neighbors, friends and spouses. It's inevitable. Even if T'Les dies, there'll be others. _You've _proved creating half-human children is possible. _You've _helped prove that a Vulcan and human couple can exist and procreate."

Paxton shook his head. "No, your science officer and engineer proved a couple is possible. And your doctor proved creating a life is possible. By discrediting you and Enterprise, we discredit him. Besides, we simply proved it _shouldn't _happen, and you helped us."

"You're insane."

"You say insane, I say pragmatist."

"Go to Hell."

Paxton shrugged and then turned his attention to T'Pol and T'Les. His guards gave them a shove, nudging them to stand by Archer. When they stood together, the captain watched disappointment cross the Vulcan's face and felt he'd failed her – outrageously so.

"Take them to the mines and kill them. All three," said Paxton. When the guards threw him a questioning look, John Paxton frowned. "I know, but we're doing it for the good of humanity."

Archer recognized the wording from Colonel Green's speech, the one he gave to soldiers convincing them to exterminate people with radiation poisoning. Young, old and those with families – everyone died. Millions.

_A pure race – what an oxymoron. Will my people always be a slave to bigotry? _he thought.

_You overcame it, _she thought back.

He turned to her and gave a soft smile. "Mostly because of you."

A hard push in his back made his feet start working as his brain spun into overtime.

_Ideas?_ he thought.

She turned her head to notice four people leading them to the elevator shaft. He could tell she was bemoaning that it would be easier for her to fend them off if she wasn't holding their child.

_You're stronger than I am_, he thought.

She didn't disagree.

_Then let me hold T'Les._

She thought, _When I give you our child, distract them._

Scooping her daughter's head and neck, she held their baby out for him and he took it immediately to his chest.

"Wait," he said. Looking down at her, his baby in his arms, he leaned closer to her. "If we don't make it out alive …."

Suddenly, his lips pressed against hers, crushing her mouth. Soon she opened her lips and he moaned noisily into her open throat as one hand came behind her head to cradle it. He dove for her lips again and focused his eyes on hers.

_Now might be a good time,_ he thought.

And the Vulcan sprung into action. Reaching one hand out, she managed to knock one out without making the other three wiser and then reached for another on the other side to do the same. She broke from their embrace to sweep away one gun, shoot the guard nearest the captain and her daughter and then watched as the only guard left realized he was it. His hands raised in the air.

When they left the elevator, Archer placed his fingers in the position Surak had once instructed and attempted to pinch the man's neck. After two attempts, noticing the remaining guard didn't crumple to the ground, T'Pol squeezed her hand in the same position.

"I used to know that," said Archer.

"I believe _used to _are the operative words."

A quip was working to his lips, when she grabbed his hand heading back into the darkened tunnel that lead back to the hanger.

"This way."

---

Rachel tapped her fingers along the controls of her vehicle as football stadium-like lights began to illuminate the blackened sky.

"Guess they know you're gone," she said.

"I'll fly the Excalibur. You contact Section 31."

She gave a wry smile and did just that as he strapped himself into the cockpit. When the shuttle took off, Reed noticed a barrage of weapons fire, bullets, pelted the side. Ducking down a little lower, in case shrapnel penetrated the glass surrounding the cockpit, he lifted the vehicle off the ground.

"This is Lt. Rachel Schulz, come in Harris."

A cranky older voice got on the line.

"You got him?" he asked.

"Yes, sir. We're leaving Miro's right now. I'm transmitting the coordinates."

"Good. We'll have a team there in fifteen minutes. Starfleet discovered Captain Archer and Commander T'Pol were on the lunar base, in the mines."

Reed turned his head, noting they could easily travel there and give them a hand.

"Our operative?" she asked.

Harris said, "He confirmed it. Starfleet and the MACOs are scheduled to land in less than twenty minutes. Full assault team."

"We could give them a hand," suggested Reed.

A smile, one that he'd used in the past to charm Rachel while they were dating, spread over his face and he noticed for a second she actually gave it some thought. But, she spoke into the comm instead.

"Sir, what are my orders?"

"Return Lt. Reed to Enterprise and provide some insight into the investigation Commander Tucker has launched."

"What about the captain and T'Pol?" asked Reed.

Harris must've heard the question, because he piped up. "They're in good hands, Malcolm."

Reed didn't necessarily believe him and for a moment, he checked the controls and thought about altering the flight path to have them indeed find his commanding officers.

Harris said, "Don't worry about them. I think Captain Archer would want you to ensure we have the Coalition of Planet meetings first and foremost. Second, he'd want his chief tactical officer to get the bastards that framed him."

Reed checked himself and closed his eyes, hoping that Starfleet was indeed on their way to save his commanding officers. If they didn't, he'd never forgive himself. Firing the boosters, he sailed into the horizons and toward space dock, toward Enterprise.

---

The next interview candidate Tucker didn't know that well, but the guy had a good reputation around Enterprise. And that always meant something, at least to the chief engineer.

A man of moderate height and weight with brown hair and eyes popped his head in.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Sure did. Have a seat, Crewman."

"You can call me Ricky."

"All right, Ricky. I've been asking various crewmen a few questions. Last year, you sent a package that had to go through bio-scanners. Remember what it was?"

"Cookies. Sent some to my mom."

"Your mother? Isn't it supposed to work the other way around?"

"Not if you're in the hospitality industry, studying to be a chef. Sometimes Chef lets me use the kitchen, and I wanted to make something for her; let her know I was okay. Made enough for the crew to eat, too."

Trip's face sloped up. He remembered the day fresh chocolate chip cookies were made. He mostly recalled the date because he ate a few after having a strange conversation with T'Pol regarding Lorian. Tuckers, all his family, tended to eat when they got angry or depressed, and he was no exception.

"Those were good," said Trip.

"Glad you enjoyed them."

"It had the captain's DNA on it, and T'Pol's."

"They both ate some. Maybe somehow their DNA made it into the box."

Trip nodded. "I looked through your records. You joined Enterprise right before the Expanse."

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

The steward frowned. "I lost someone in Cuba. My brother – Miguel. I wanted to do something about it, even though I was a waiter. One of your men quit and it left an opening."

Trip nodded. "Mighty brave of you."

"Thank you, sir. It's just a shame what happened. I know you also suffered."

The engineer frowned. "Yeah. Lotta people did."

"Are there any other questions I can answer for you?"

"Nope. You're dismissed. And just to let you know, we're confining those questioned to quarters while we work this out."

"Oh. I guess I'll miss my shift this morning."

"Yeah. Don't worry, we'll try to speed this investigation up."

When Ricky left along with some of the security guards, Trip leaned back in his chair. As a matter of course, he decided this would be an opportune time to double check the stories he heard. With a sigh, he strolled off to Sickbay to run these alibis through Phlox, even the one about Cole's underwear.

_Some things you just don't want to know._

--

Running through the mines this time was much easier. Archer didn't even try to squint into the darkness, instead he allowed T'Pol to guide him -- using their bond to point them in the right direction. Turn after turn, and bend after bend finally led them back to the place where they first landed the shuttle. Just as they were popping onto the deck, Archer noticed it wasn't as chaotic as usual – no welders, no people levitating forklifts to move palettes of merchandise. Instead, everything seemed quiet.

_Something's not right._

A voice from a speaker blared overhead and a spotlight shone on him and his makeshift family.

"Put your hands on your head! Stay where you are."

Archer strained his eyes to see into the light. _No!_

"Jonathan, it appears this is it."

He put one hand on his head, the other latching onto his child to keep him at his chest and T'Pol folded hers neatly on her crown.

"I'm sorry, T'Pol."

"It wasn't your fault. It was a valiant attempt."

She glanced over at her daughter and he closed the ground between them, touching her back with his elbow, the one that cradled his infant.

"It would've been nice to move to Earth, teach and raise T'Les," he said. "And it was selfless of you to offer to live on my planet."

He could feel her comfort him in their bond.

"You would've made an excellent mother," he said.

She stopped only for a moment so they could walk side by side into the light, aimed at their retinas.

"You said you wanted to be like your father – a good man. Jonathan, I believe you have always been such. Our daughter would have a fine role model in you."

The two gazed at each other, his heart thumping in his chest and hers – he could feel – beating just as loudly. They would've continued if it hadn't been for spying a man in a lab coat, Dr. White, the one who'd conducted T'Les physical while a reporter was interviewing Archer.

"What are you doing here?" asked Archer.

Suddenly, the light switched off and the doctor gave a grin. "We've been looking for you."

"Our daughter--" said T'Pol.

"We have a craft ready to take you to Starfleet medical."

Archer shook his head. "The only man with experience in human/Vulcan offspring is aboard Enterprise – Dr. Phlox."

The doctor quickly hoisted his communicator and spoke into it. "Yes, we have them. They want to go to Enterprise."

Even Archer could hear the good news – maybe through T'Pol's advanced hearing – the man on the other end agreed.

"Right this way," said White.

As he led them quickly to a shuttle, Archer asked his original question again more demanding.

"What are you doing here?"

Dr. White scratched his bald head. "I work with an organization who believed you were guiltless from the beginning."

"An organization?"

Dr. White smiled. "Yes. I believe you know which."

Ensuring they got in safely, Stan White provided instructions to the pilot and Archer and T'Pol strapped themselves in as the craft took off. On the way back, both the captain and his first officer were quiet, enjoying each other's thoughts, knowing their daughter would be safe.

"She'll be fine," said Archer.

He felt her take his hand.

She said, "There is hope."

TBC


	15. Mars

Trip ambled into Sickbay and saw the doctor humming quietly to himself while feeding his menagerie. At the commander's entrance, the doctor stopped and greeted him enthusiastically.

"Commander Tucker!" said Phlox. "What brings you here?"

"I've been through a few interviews and wanted to run through the alibis with you, if you got a moment."

"Of course. Have a seat," he said. When the Denobulan pointed to the bio-bed, Trip shook his head.

"Nah, I think I'll just stand."

Something about being in Sickbay never sat too well with Tucker, and he chalked it up to either being pregnant or being too near his deathbed only months ago thanks to an alien illness that he and Hoshi were miraculously cured from.

Shaking himself from the thought, Tucker told the doctor the problem.

"I got one angry crewman who may've been trying to get even with me, one with an incredible story about undergarments and one--"

"Undergarments?"

The doctor's eyes lit up and a smile had smeared across his face.

"Yeah. Corporal Cole sent some underwear a boyfriend had given her and apparently a book that set the bio-filters off."

"Interesting."

Trip's eyes narrowed. "And I got one guy who claimed to bake cookies."

"How may I assist?"

"Is there any way to corroborate these stories?"

"Like what?"

"I want to know _exactly _what was found in the bio-filters. For example, Corporal Cole indicated a hair follicle, blood or something else of Archer's located on a book may've set off the bio-filter. I just want to verify she's telling the truth."

Phlox tapped his chin with an index finger. "Enterprise's bio-filter records aren't that sophisticated."

"Starfleet Medical?"

"No." Phlox pointed his finger into the air, and then spoke. "However, the Vulcans' have more sophisticated equipment. They may be able to read the signatures and help us validate interviews."

Trip nodded. "Soval already volunteered his help. Contact the ambassador and start working with him."

As the commander was about to turn his back and head out the door, he heard the voice of the doctor again; apparently he wasn't quite through.

"This must be a trying time for you, Commander?"

Trip imagined rolling his eyes without actually doing so.

Phlox said, "Although I imagine your emotions must be warring--"

"Doc," said Trip.

Undeterred, Phlox continued. "I think your leadership style …. You've acted admirably."

"Thanks." The blonde gave an uneasy smile and was about to head out.

"There is a human saying – everything will work out--"

Just as the words were delivered a beeping noise interrupted the conversation, and Trip could only be thankful for small miracles. He appreciated the doctor's concern, but staying up for two nights in a row fueled by only coffee, he wasn't about to let his personal fears interfere with helping T'Pol … or the captain.

Heading over the comm, he answered. "Tucker here."

Travis said, "Sir, we're picking up a shuttle called the Excalibur. Lt. Reed is aboard and requesting permission to--"

Tucker smiled. "Permission granted. Tell Reed to park it in the shuttle bay. I'll meet him there."

When his thumb slipped off the comm button, Phlox spoke again.

"I'm here if you wish to talk about anything."

"I appreciate that. Thanks," he said. The smile slid off his face, and he stalked the corridors to welcome his friend.

_Thank God he's all right._

---

Both parents immediately on entry of the Section 31 shuttle watched over their daughter with baited breath. Dr. White, who accompanied them, reviewed the child's vital signs, but could be no more helpful than T'Pol was. Shrugging, explaining he had no particular expertise in hybrids, he apologized.

"Understandable," said T'Pol.

And although no one else might be able to discern her worry, Archer could hear it as plain as day.

_Phlox will help her_, he thought.

Just as the shuttle powered its last remaining booster to leave the moon, a peculiar sight loomed off to port. Archer caught it, but could hardly believe what he saw.

The moon base was lifting off, leaving the confines of the moon. Cables snapped, jets burned – fireless in space – and several people were tossed off the surface to float into the blackness. Shuttles and equipment were displaced, sent careening off the planet in all directions. Archer, his eyes unable to leave the sight, realized the tiny shuttle he occupied was in danger of colliding into this debris.

The pilot swore and fought the controls as Jon turned to T'Pol.

"Hang on," said Archer.

Jon sat next to T'Pol and gripped the steel above him. As he was about to turn and ask who should hold the baby, his first officer shook her head and wrapped the infant tighter into her arms.

_I have greater strength,_ she thought.

Dr. White grasped a rail with one hand and then with the other contacted his superiors.

"Harris, the Orpheus Mining Colony--"

"We see it, Stan. Get the hell outta there."

Weaponless, the mining colony floated overhead and streamed past them to places unknown as bodies and equipment flew toward the shuttle. The ship, agile, maneuvered through attempting in vain to speed away when a loud smack hit the outer wall, tossing Archer nearly out of his seat and jostling Dr. White onto the floor.

When Archer's head spun, he gave a relieved smile. The Vulcan's arms remained around their daughter.

The next time Jon looked out the porthole he saw the debris that hit them drift by, a commercial-sized drill used for core samples, as well as a piece of the shuttle. Which piece was impossible to tell.

"We've got a rupture in our fuel tank," said the pilot. And then without further ado, he started mayday procedures.

The pilot, a blonde man in his late twenties, furrowed his brow. "We got no place to go."

"Can we make it to space dock?" asked Dr. White. "It could be our best option."

Archer knew Enterprise, a ship in space dock, was still at least thirty minutes away – probably too far for a shuttle about to explode.

"We're cutting it close," said the pilot. "It could blow any minute."

--

Trip walked into the shuttle bay wearing an enormous grin. When Malcolm stepped out of the shuttlepod named Excalibur, the engineer couldn't help himself and threw his arms around his buddy.

"Glad to see you're okay," said Trip.

"Me, too!" Reed gave a chortle. "I suppose you heard about what happened?"

"Sure did."

"I wouldn't have gotten out of there it hadn't been for Rachel," he said.

Trip was a smart guy, able to read signs and signals almost right away; that's why he knew Malcolm was smitten over the raven-haired woman. Not that he could blame the tactical officer.

"Of course I wouldn't have gotten _in _there if it hadn't for her," added Reed.

Rachel gave a small smile and stuck out her hand. "Lt. Rachel Schulz."

"Commander Charles Tucker III," he said. "You Starfleet?"

"No, sir." She paused, but not long enough for him to get in a question. "I've been asked to help you with your investigation."

"Oh?" He gave a sidelong glance to Malcolm.

Rachel said, "Yes, sir. I have the clearance to assist you and may be able to shed some light on the matter."

Trip stared down at the young woman.

"I'd like to check your clearance," he said.

Her smile turned brighter. "I'd be disappointed if you didn't."

As the three made their way out of the shuttle bay, Trip finally turned to his friend and pointed.

"You got blotches all over you," he said.

"Hay," said Reed.

"Don't tell me – allergic?"

A little put out, the Englishman nodded. So, Trip coaxed a pat to his back and gave him a little encouragement.

"I'll take Lt. Schulz from here. Why don't you check in with Dr. Phlox?"

"Trip, I want to help out," he said.

"I want you to as well – can't get through an investigation without you." At his friend's slight frown, Trip reassured him. "We'll be checking Lt. Schulz's clearance anyway."

And with that, Malcolm took off in the other direction while Trip and Rachel continued down the hall to the turbolift.

"You never did tell me which branch of the military you worked for," he said.

"No, I didn't."

As he was about to take her to task, a call interrupted him.

"Bridge to Commander Tucker."

"Tucker here. What is it Mayweather?"

"Sir, you're not going to believe this, but … the mining colony is apparently heading for Mars."

Tucker shot Rachel a worried glance, jamming his thumb against the button.

"I'm on my way."

With that, the two sprinted down the corridor to the turbolift.

--

T'Pol knew something about humans. Perhaps her knowledge came from working with them for approximately four years, being the best friend to one – Archer, or being involved with one of them - Trip. Whatever fueled her comprehension, she knew that in times of high stress, humans were known to kick up their emotional responses, which they referred to as their fight or flight instinct. She could feel Jonathan's heart race and his mind churn on possible solutions, despite he could do little to enact them. To silence the constant whirring of thoughts, she turned to him.

She thought, _In the corridor …. You kissed me._

By the look on his face, she could tell she had successfully distracted him – red with astonishment and confusion.

_What? _he asked.

_In the corridor, you kissed me._

T'Pol, I -- Jonathan, was that purely to distract the guards? 

His eyes widened. _We're about to meet our makers, and you're asking me whether I'd intended to kiss you? For romantic purposes?_

_Meet our makers? My makers were my parents, and because their katras line the walls of the Great Hall, I doubt I shall meet them again._

His shoulders slumped, and yet despite the situation, a smile slid onto his face as if he understood her intention was merely to divert his thoughts. It made T'Pol poke an eyebrow into the air; she sensed the spinning of his mind slowed.

He thought, _I think you already know the answer, just like I think you didn't really want to ask me that._

Lips curled by the smallest fraction, and she looked at her child.

She thought, _If we do perish, I want you to know my time with you in the mining facility has only deepened our friendship. I would be … proud to rear our daughter with you, living close by._

An arm reached around her. _If we do move to Earth, things are liable to get more complicated between us. You said the bond will deepen and --_

She agreed, _There will be, as you say, much to sort out. And though our daughter has brought an unexpected turn in our relationship … her presence is a rewarding one._

_I feel the same. _

Without hesitation, she lifted her two fingers out of many emotions – friendship, compassion, care and shared parenthood. The two parted fingers quickly and his gaze inadvertently went to the window – at Enterprise beginning to unbuckle itself from space dock.

The pilot swore and then announced. "I'm hailing her."

--

"On screen," said Trip, stalking onto the Bridge with Lt. Schulz in tow.

And then suddenly exactly what Mayweather described was floating with in a trajectory toward Mars as if it wanted to land. Before he could give any particular order, Hoshi's voice called his attention.

"Sir, the facility is hailing us," she said.

A man, average in every way, popped onto the viewscreen. Average in height, average in weight, average in comeliness, Trip had a hard time believing this was the guy who'd held his captain and created a baby to rid Earth of aliens. Villains, he'd told himself, usually looked diabolical. This man did not.

"My name is John Paxton. And I'm the leader of a group called Terra Prime."

"I know who you are!" said Trip. "What the hell have you done with--"

"Enterprise is in space dock. Don't you think it's difficult to make threats?"

"You can tell we're leaving our restraints."

"You won't be able to do so in time … and save your girlfriend and captain."

Shooting a glance at Hoshi, she nodded her head while her hands flew across the terminal.

She said, "Sir, we're getting a hail from a shuttle – one that has the captain and Commander T'Pol. The pilot indicates they have an emergency. He requests immediate transport."

Rachel moved in on the commander. "Sir, we have an obligation to stop that mining facility. If it reaches Mars, Paxton could use a weapons array near Red Station – another Orpheus Mining facility."

"Why does Paxton have weapons?" he asked.

Rachel shook her head. "Left over from the Mars mining revolt. Arms that … went missing."

Twenty years ago, Mars colonists tried to secede from Earth and take over the planet for its own purposes. Ironically, the mining facility supported Starfleet and the rebellion was crushed quickly and bloodlessly. But, weapons obviously made it to Mars, and Paxton must've confiscated and kept them.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. He'd faced difficult decisions in his past – whether to order guys into coolant leaks and plasma eruptions to face their deaths. He'd done it in the Expanse. He never relished the task, but he did it for the good of the ship and Earth.

_But, this? he asked._

This time it was T'Pol … and his friend. Not to mention, it was his two senior officers. With conviction in his voice, he nodded to Hoshi.

"Bring them on board," he said.

Triumphant, Paxton gave a crooked smile. "Thank you, Commander."

And with that, the screen faded to black and Lt. Rachel Schulz turned on Trip, a grimace on her face.

"How could you do that!" she yelled.

Ignoring her, Trip kept his focus on Ensign Sato. "Hoshi, have the transporter get a lock on every life sign in the shuttle. Tell them to energize when ready."

"Aye, sir," said Hoshi.

Rachel closed in on the commander. "How could you?"

Trip said, "Lieutenant, my first priority is to this vessel and its crew."

Rachel said, "You may've just saved your captain and first officer, but you may've just doomed Earth."

Hoshi coughed and then spoke. "Sir, Crewman Thomas indicates he transported five people aboard, including Captain Archer, T'Pol, the pilot, a doctor … and a baby."

Trip turned to Mayweather and asked, "Clamps released?"

"Spacedock says we're clear," said Travis.

"Good. Then, let's go get that bastard. Ahead as fast as you can take her."

--

The minute Archer and T'Pol arrived on Enterprise, the captain felt a sincere conflict in his priorities. The majority of him wanted to rush his child to Sickbay and beg Dr. Phlox to help her, and yet he knew it was his duty to get to the Bridge.

_Trip can handle it. Besides, you've been relieved of duty._

Archer wasn't sure if it was his voice or T'Pol's, but realized the wisdom there. Commander Tucker was a capable man. Giving only one nod, he ran alongside his first officer to Sickbay.

After bursting into the room, Phlox and Reed looked up at the door.

"Our child--" said T'Pol.

Phlox understood the immediacy of the moment, and headed toward the infant. Running a scanner over her, his mouth turned down at the corners and his eyes shot first to T'Pol and then Archer.

"What is it?" asked T'Pol.

Without answering the doctor wheeled over an incubator, tossed the lid open and then instructed T'Pol to set the child in it. The man was about to close a lid on her when Archer reached over to his hand.

"Don't confine her," he said.

"Captain, I must in order to save her life."

And then with a warmth that Archer never would've guessed more than four years ago could come from a Vulcan, T'Pol sent the equivalent of a hug – one that could've been drenched with tears of love – to her daughter.

_It is necessary, my child._ _Don't fret_, she thought

Unlike the time T'Les spent on Terra Prime, the little girl had no fear. And with a tired eyes, closing them to rest, she fell asleep.

Numbly both parents hovered over the plastic incubator watching as Phlox administered a series of injections. Out of comfort, he wrapped his hand around his first officer's.

Reed closed in just a little, and then turned to his commanding officers.

"She's beautiful."

"Yes, she is," said T'Pol.

Archer squeezed her hand before either's fingers slipped away from the others'. The lieutenant, quietly, and without bringing attention to himself slipped away from Sickbay. And it was several minutes before Archer noticed the officer had left.

"I should get to the Bridge," said Archer, when the fog of the moment lifted.

"As should I," said T'Pol.

And yet neither moved.

--

Paxton wasn't terribly happy about how events transpired. It was supposed to be easy – create a baby and cause a scandal. That part had succeeded. It was fortune that brought Archer to his doorstep, one that he anticipated without knowing with certainty; it helped back up the scandal.

The damage done to Archer, to T'Pol and to Starfleet was insurmountable. Public opinion railed against Starfleet, thinking all captains were abusing women and even alien races held their breath that such an atrocity could happen.

Archer and T'Pol's escape, with the child, had been unfortunate. With Starfleet at his door about to arrest him, he had to make a quick decision – a bold one – for the posterity of his planet: use the weapons from the mining colony rebellion to threaten Earth.

It was a last resort, a plan that he and Watson hatched if everything went wrong.

_And everything did go wrong, _thought Paxton.

With his capture, the scandal, the embarrassment – everything would be overturned. Fate would be behind Starfleet again.

Paxton looked at the black man sitting next to him, guiding the facility onto Mars and then frowned.

"I hope humanity understands what we're doing," he said.

Watson agreed. "Colonel Green was not remembered fondly."

"Fools," he said. "Humans don't even understand when someone is protecting them."

The mining facility landed gently against the ground and immediately he and Watson began to tap into the large stockpile of arms, including nuclear weapons created from WWII. Calculating trajectory, Paxton and Watson put in the equations to send the nukes hurdling to Earth – to New York, Seattle, St. Louis, Toronto, Tokyo, London, Munich, Cairo, Rome, Paris, Hong Kong, Moscow, Buenos Aires, Sydney, Singapore, Vancouver …. A weapon would hit every available target to decimate his planet.

Swallowing deeply, he entered the sequence that would begin their assault in less than three hours.

_Three hours will give Starfleet time to capitulate. Time to end the conference and rid the plane of every extra-terrestrial._

He and Watson watched the time count down. After seconds passed, he worked with Watson on transmitting communications, boosting off signals available to Mars. It was a wide dispersal intended to alert any major news organization, Starfleet … anyone.

"This is John Paxton of the group Terra Prime. I have taken over the facility at Red Station and have warheads earmarked for almost every major city on the planet. We demand the immediate end of the Coalition of Planets and the departure of every alien race on Earth and its colonies."

John stared into the monitor. "You have less than three hours. Terra Prime forever."

TBC


	16. It is the end

Reed appeared on the Bridge, and Tucker barely noticed him emerge from the turbolift as he paced behind Mayweather's station waiting for word – any word – from Starfleet. When Hoshi'd tried contacting them the last four times, the communication signals had so been jammed his Communications Officer couldn't get through. It meant the people of Earth were using every available satellite to communicate to loved ones about their impending doom.

Reed slipped into his chair, as Lt. Rachel Schulz walked behind him. The Brit seemed to be aware of the situation even before Rachel had time to say anything to him.

"Should I target--?" asked Reed.

"No," said Tucker. "Not yet."

After a few more minutes and a few more spins behind Mayweather's station, Tucker turned hopefully to Ensign Sato who suddenly hunched over her console to work; it looked like she finally got someone was on the line.

"Hoshi?" he asked, when he didn't get confirmation.

"Just coming through now, sir."

Tucker ran to the Ready Room to accept the call, and gathered behind the captain's desk without bothering to sit. Leaning, palms on the table, he waited with baited breath perched over the monitor. Although the picture was still black, Trip spoke to it impatiently.

"Admiral?"

Gardner's visage finally appeared - haggard and worn; obviously he hadn't gotten much sleep either jolting from one crisis to another. Trip could relate.

"We've ordered every alien off Earth," said Gardner "and have communicated that to Terra Prime."

"So, he's gonna let his finger off the trigger, right?"

"Hasn't yet." Gardner sighed. "He wants to see ships leave the planet. Stet that, he wants to see them, actually, leave the solar system."

"Orders?"

"Stand down. I'll communicate to you again soon with further instruction."

"Sir--?"

"I'll contact you again soon."

The man's face faded into blackness and Trip stared at the monitor wishing there was more he could do other than swear under his breath. He'd wanted to ask about Enterprise's own aliens – Commander T'Pol and Dr. Phlox to see if there was something he could do to protect them. But those two were nothing compared to the hundreds or thousands on Earth that needed to be evacuated.

With a sigh he decided at worst they could engage warp and stream past the outer reaches of the system. He just hoped it didn't come to that.

Walking with purpose onto the Bridge, he relayed the information and then communicated to the entire ship. Since everyone had loved ones on the planet, he thought they had a right to know; it was unorthodox to indicate precise orders like this, but Tucker was convinced this was a unique situation.

"All hands, this is Commander Tucker … acting captain. As you might know Terra Prime has threatened to destroy Earth unless the planet ordered all aliens to leave. Our government and Starfleet are working to ensure that happens for the safety of the planet and the aliens are visiting. Because of the serious nature of this threat, we've been ordered to stand down and wait for further instructions. I'll communicate any word as soon as I hear it. Tucker out."

With a sigh, he looked at the Bridge crew and wondered how he'd occupy his mind while waiting for – now – less than three hours. As he turned his head to Rachel, thinking he might verify her identity, the young woman frowned.

"I told you this could happen," she said.

She took off from behind Reed's station and situated herself in front of the engineer.

Tucker frowned back. "That was a chance I had to take."

There was a response all worked up, when the commander decided to head it off at the pass.

"I don't want to hear any more about that decision, _Lieutenant_. I understand the responsibility."

Narrowed eyes, she pointed to his Ready Room. "_Sir_, may I speak with you privately?"

Giving a sharp nod, he headed for the room and watched as she filed in behind him. Just as the door closed behind her, she launched at him again.

"Terra Prime has been using your involvement with Commander T'Pol from the very beginning."

"What do you mean?"

"They knew about you two."

"How could they?"

"I don't know; you were careless?"

He ignored that. "Hell, I don't even know who _they _are."

"We have a man who's been watching them – Kelby."

"Commander Kelby is a member of your organization?" Although Rachel never indicated what that organization was, Tucker got the impression it was Section 31.

"Yes," she said.

"Then--?"

"One of the crewman died in the Expanse, but he sent a package with T'Pol and Captain Archer's DNA. "

Trip nodded. "We didn't focus our attention on crew that had passed away. What was his name?"

"Corporal Mann," she said.

It was one of the men that accompanied the captain before he detonated the Xindi weapon. With a bowed head, Tucker decided to keep that fact to himself; no sense in dishonoring a man who'd served his captain and planet.

"So I can end the investigation," he said.

"Not yet. You currently have the other accomplice under arrest."

"His name?"

"Crewman Richard Vega," she said.

"Our steward?"

"Yes."

"What kind of proof do you have?"

"We nabbed the cookies that were enroot to Cuba. It was an address set up to forward packages to one of the main bases of Terra Prime."

"Wouldn't they get suspicious if they never received that package?"

"Oh, they received it. Although it had the captain and commander's DNA, that sample was contaminated so it couldn't be used. We didn't want a viable sample to reach that group."

"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" asked Trip.

"We wanted to get as much as information as possible first."

The look on her face told him that was just a boldfaced lie, so he decided to call her on it.

He said, "You were never going to tell us … were you?"

She remained silent.

Trip shook his head. "I suppose I should ask security to take Mr. Vega to the brig."

"Aren't you going to check my identity first?" she asked.

An ironic chuckle, lacking any mirth, worked out of his mouth and he leaned over the console to confirm her story.

---

"Ambassador, I don't want you to take that chance. I'm asking you to board that shuttle and let the T'Lar take you to the nearest Vulcan outpost," said Gardner.

Admiral Gardner made a personal visit to see him. Although the two men were literally ten minutes from each other in the same complex, they saw one another infrequently. In fact, Soval numbered the visits at approximately 7; the Vulcan was never certain if that was his wishes or the admiral's.

Standing, Soval clasped his hands behind his back.

Soval said, "You realize if the aliens leave that it will take years, possibly decades to reassemble the Coalition."

Gardner gave a noisy sigh and nodded. "It'll set us back, but it'll ensure Earth is safe as are our _friends_."

Soval closed his eyes. He enjoyed the company of few humans, but one such man was dead because he sacrificed his life on their _friendship _– Admiral Forrest. During the preparation for the meeting, the Vulcan had thought about Maxwell frequently, reminiscing in a way that could only be called human. He wished the man was able to see the progress that had been made because of him and because of Enterprise, a ship under his guidance.

_Admiral Forrest deserved to see his plans come to fruition_, thought Soval

To have one deranged human suddenly bring that progress to a halt irritated him. When his eyes opened, he berated himself for such emotion.

_Irritation is not logical._

Stepping one foot in front of the other, he walked in front of Admiral Gardner and decided to be as blunt as possible – a skill that no Vulcan had mastered, he least of all.

"I will leave Earth, but I cannot dismiss the idea of the Coalition of Planets. Too many men have sacrificed too much."

Gardner nodded. "Max would've been disappointed, too. But, Ambassador, he didn't risk his life to have you throw it away like this. Mankind is ready, even if a few of us need more convincing."

Soval's eyes fell to the ground and he remembered that Admiral Gardner had known Admiral Forrest a long time as well, possibly better than a Vulcan ever could.

"You will walk with me to my shuttle?" asked Soval.

The human nodded, a smile – both sad and full of care – planted on his face and the two took off down the corridor. The Vulcan stood ramrod straight as if even hurrying to leave the planet would not diminish his dignity.

"I take it by now you agree that Captain Archer and Commander T'Pol could not have been guilty of fraternization."

Gardner winced. "Yes, I agree. Commander Tucker is investigating who could've stolen their genetic material."

"I was contacted by Dr. Phlox asking for assistance. It is unfortunate I cannot help them immediately."

The two walked into the hanger and Gardner pointed to the red metallic ship, a small one, that would take the ambassador to the T'Lar.

"You need someone to fly you?" asked Gardner.

Soval shook his head. "I was a pilot in my youth. Although, that was approximately 75 years ago."

Gardner laughed. "A pilot?"

"Yes, I was in the military."

"That's hard to believe."

"Hard to believe, and yet true. I was responsible for leading an infantry attack on the Andorians. The campaign was not as successful as one would have hoped, at least at the time. The Andorians were … more illogical than we anticipated."

"What happened?"

"Their ships fell in line to block our supplies. Because of their small numbers, we hypothesized they would not do so. When our reinforcements came, the blockade led suicide attacks." Soval gathered his hands in front of him, folding them. "In the end we were successful, if one may call _that _a success. The casualties for the Andorians were great. I withdrew from the service after that campaign and became an ambassador."

And then an idea lit in the Vulcan's brain.

_I must be getting old. It is unfortunate I think of this only now._ "Admiral, how many ships will be leaving the planet?"

Gardner shrugged. "At last count – somewhere around 120. I'm sure Starfleet Command can give us an accurate report."

"How many have already left?" he asked.

"Somewhere around 15."

"May I contact a few of the captains?"

Gardner narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"I have an idea."

"What is it?"

"An illogical one."

---

T'Pol and Archer hovered over their daughter's cube as Phlox toiled near it, running one test after another. At first he talked to himself, working through each problem while he put the results through a computer and watched data spit onto a screen. Soon, though, he was left silent.

_The news is not good_, she thought.

Phlox finally turned to the parents and put a hand through his mane, the smile he usually wore was missing from his lips. Only concern shown in his iridescent eyes.

"What is it?" asked Archer.

Phlox sighed. "Your daughter doesn't just have one illness – she has many. Her immune system was compromised significantly in the short time she was exposed, possibly because her system was not as developed as either a human or Vulcan."

"What does that mean?" he asked.

_Her system was not fully formed – it was defective, _thought T'Pol. _It was defective because she is a hybrid._

"She doesn't have long," said Phlox.

T'Pol's eyebrows knitted together and she looked at her baby as she felt the man beside her grow a lump in his throat – one too large to ask any additional questions.

"How long?" she asked.

"Hours," said Phlox.

Vulcans had training to suppress emotions during the most difficult of circumstances – years worth. Calling on that knowledge, she felt her knees weaken and her face grow long.

"Is she comfortable?" she asked.

"Yes," said Phlox.

"She should be removed from the incubator," said T'Pol.

"It could speed up her death," said Phlox.

"Remove her from the incubator," said Archer.

Jonathan's voice was hoarse and tears were hanging on the edge of his lashes. T'Pol looked into his eyes and possibly for the first time noticed how much T'Les' eyes were like his – deeply green – the color of Earth meadows, of lagoons and thick groves. Lacking now was the steeliness that twinkled in his eyes, the one of commander, and what remained was the extinguished light of a father who's heart ached.

Phlox opened the lid of the incubator and T'Pol scooped the baby into her arms, pressing her cheek against her daughter's head. The girl's face was warm, burning up from the fire that consumed her body – the one that would eventually snuff out her life. And despite the exhaustion and fever, a gurgle made it to T'Les' lips – bubbles that reminded T'Pol of a happier time. It was then that the Vulcan felt Archer's arms spread protectively around her and her daughter. Leaning his forehead into her hair so that he could look at their child or hide his face, his body shook ever so slightly. She noticed a droplet of water reached her arm – the one that held their baby.

_Jonathan?_

And then another splashed against her cheek. It wasn't her tears; they were his – slow to fall as if the water was the only result of a battle, a war, to control his emotions.

_I'm sorry, _he thought. His face tried to burry itself further into her hair.

Turning her face into his chest, listening to his heart slam against his breast, she nestled her child between the two of them. She knew the infant could hear the beating of their hearts, keeping an asynchronous rhythm, the deafening legato beat of his human one and the stuttering Vulcan pace.

Closing her eyes, T'Pol reflected that she would not see her daughter grow – attend school asking questions with the curiosity of a Vulcan and the eagerness of a human; she would not watch her wearing a placid face learning to control her emotions while allowing a smile creep onto her face every once in a while; and she would never know whether T'Les took an interest in science or flying.

T'Pol wouldn't teach on Earth or live in a location close to her commander and friend. They would have no reason to – their daughter would perish, and soon. She was in the death throes already.

When T'Pol's eyes opened, she looked down at her baby.

_I never envisioned myself as a mother, but I … I so wanted to be yours. I so wanted to teach you about meditation, how to speak in the ancient tongue of your mother and foremother and quench your thirst for knowledge. _

Quite illogically, she furrowed her brow. _My daughter ..._

Jonathan's hand cupped her face for a moment, and then his fingers went to T'Les' cheek.

An announcement was made by Trip, one that neither parent heard despite the imperative nature of the all hands announcement. Instead, both parents were deaf to everything except their makeshift family and the bond that reverberated among them.

---

Paxton watched ship after ship leave Earth and imagined the vessels fleeing with their tail between their legs. It gave him satisfaction to think of the ships in that manner - fleeing. In fact, it gave him _a lot_ of satisfaction.

Watson had already opened a bottle of cheap champagne at the thought of a new year – a year without aliens. As liquid was poured, Paxton decided to turn on some music to celebrate, to fill the corridors with a triumphant sound of brass horns and drums. Unfortunately the only music he had one file was the music of Wagner and Der Ring des Nibelungen.

As the prelude began, he looked down at the clock – less than two hours. At the latest count only 70 ships had left the surface and many were beginning to slow their progress toward the outer rim past Jupiter.

_Never mind,_ he thought. _Some aliens cannot be hurried, like the accursed Vulcans. They were probably lollygagging behind with their infernal patience._

Watson brought a glass of champagne and John took it to his lips, his eyes on his closest friend.

"We did it," said John. A smile overtaking his entire face.

"Just barely."

"Yes, but still." His smile faded. "When the last of the aliens have left, disarm the weapons."

"Of course."

John continued to frown. "This small victory will no doubt cost us our lives. We'll be tried and executed as traitors to our planet."

Watson sipped his champagne. "You know the aliens will be back one day."

Paxton sighed. "Yes, but this act will give them pause. They won't want to come back so soon. And that's something. It means we can buy more time."

Watson remained silent and Paxton kicked his feet up on the console watching the ships slow even further. And then the leader of Terra Prime sprang to his feet, leaving his alcohol on the console to watch the screen; his eyes widened and his frown grew.

"These ships aren't leaving Earth; they're blocking it."

---

"Could you repeat that?" asked Trip.

He'd already made it back to the Bridge and was staring at his Tactical Officer as if he'd grown two heads and started spitting fire.

"The alien ships aren't leaving the system," said Reed.

"Get me Admiral Gardner," said Trip. He made his way to the command chair and hovered near it. Flipping his head back toward Malcolm and then frowning at Lt. Rachel Schulz who stood behind the Brit, he gave another order. "Have your men put Crewman Richard Vega in the Brig until further orders."

"Yes, sir."

Hoshi's voice cut in excitedly. "Commander, Admiral Gardner isn't at Starfleet and he's not on Earth."

"What!"

Pointing to the screen, she raised her brown eyes to him. "Sir, he's out there."

"I don't understand."

And then like the last piece to a jigsaw puzzle, Trip saw the whole picture. Malcolm seemed to say the same words the engineer was thinking.

Reed said, "Our allies are standing between Mars and Earth. If the nuclear weapon is launched ….."

Trip knew the consequences too well. If the nukes were launched, the ships blocking his planet would take the brunt of the damage, destroying them instantly. A few weapons might make it to Earth, but the impact to the planet would be greatly diminished. An odd smile crept onto Tucker's lips and he turned toward Mayweather.

He said, "I hate to miss the party. Get us closer to the lead ship."

Mayweather nodded approvingly. "You got it."

Trip said, "Hoshi, let's see if there are any Earth vessels in the vicinity we can invite to join us if they aren't coming already."

Lt. Rachel Schulz called out from behind. "I can contact Harris to see what ships can leave."

Tucker's smiled broadened. "Well, if we gotta go, at least we'll all go in style."

---

Archer could feel the end for his daughter. It was a peculiar sensation – the spark that he chalked up to his little girl was fading and with it the lump in his throat grew. Although his tears were sporadic, he tried to choke them back … each one. It wasn't befitting a captain, a protector, to break down and he tried to fortify himself against the onslaught of grief. Sadness, the fear of T'Les' death, was something that could scare his daughter in her final moments and weigh T'Pol down. And he was determined not to let that happen.

_You are human, and so is our daughter,_ thought T'Pol.

When he shook his head, she turned to him.

"Jonathan," she said.

In an instant, his lashes became wetter. Blinking the occasional drop free, he looked at his child.

_I just … I never thought it was possible to love someone so completely and quickly, _he thought

_Nor did I. _Her hand joined his in stroking their child's face.

The two gazed at her. Him noticing the elfin ears, the wide mouth even on such a little body and green-tinted skin like T'Pol's. And he knew she recognized the cleft in their baby's chin, her green eyes and a rosy complexion that had no business being on an infant with green blood.

She was so small. So helpless. So utterly defenseless.

And as both parents watched over her, T'Les' breathed less frequently. There was pain in her little limbs, in her lungs and burning in her head. It's why Archer leaned over to his babe and kissed her forehead as T'Pol held the girl closely.

She thought, _You should be at peace, T'Les._

Almost as if it were an instruction, the girl closed her eyes and the warmth that the parents had come to know as a bond with her daughter began to grow cold – dying.

"No," he said, his voice hoarse. His eyes implored the baby to breathe again, and then they shot to T'Pol in bewilderment as if asking her to order the child to live.

The Vulcan, her eyes dark, shook her head. _Let her go._

"T'Pol--"

_Let her go._

And with a long sigh, he felt it: at first it felt like he was falling, drifting someplace. Dark. Then, suddenly, there was nothing. Absolute nothingness. Void. Emptiness. The black. The end.

The end.

The end of the bond with T'Les felt like a cool breeze on wet skin, chilling, but the breeze soon became ice cold and left both parents shivering. The light T'Les' parents sometimes saw behind their eyes was ebony. The tickling in the bottom of their stomach - pain.

_She's gone._

As if to check, his fingers felt her skin. Clammy. Lifeless.

Jonathan's arms wrapped around them both again and he closed his eyes realizing T'Pol felt the sting of a single tear and that awareness became surprise; she had not cried in so long. So very long – when she believed a friend had died. Him.

Instead of wiping it away for his first officer, he held her a little closer and kissed her forehead as if that embrace would erase all the pain. Rather than step away from him or silently chastise his emotion, she closed in and nudged her head against his lips, relishing the comfort.

Phlox intercepted them in their grief, aware the child had passed away and walked to the parents with a frown on his face.

"I'm so sorry," he said.

He hovered nearby for a moment, then ushered them behind a privacy curtain and pulled it around them. It was beyond the captain's strength to put up a fight and insist he would be okay. For the first time in his existence – or maybe since his father died - he accepted defeat. Wholly. Completely. Enormously.

"What should we do?" asked T'Pol.

The shimmering of her eyes, unshed tears, made the rims around her orbs greener and her irises look sable.

"What should we do?" she asked again.

He collected her against him, hugging her as if he would crush the life from her.

"I have no idea."

---

Paxton was about to call up communications when a face appeared on his screen, one he had not seen before – a Vulcan and with him was the Admiral – the head one of Starfleet. The Vulcan's hair was gray, in a bowl cut around his placid face, annoyingly so, and the robes he wore lacked any imagination or creativity; they were brown, drab.

"Mr. Paxton," said the Vulcan. "I believe you should stand down. The Andorian, Tellarite and Denobulan vessels will not allow you to target Earth. Rather the Andorians, Tellarites and Denobulans aboard will not allow you to target the planet."

Paxton answered, smashing his fist against the console. "There are not enough ships to stop me!"

And then something even more peculiar happened, Enterprise along with other human ships began to move into range as well. John Paxton gave a snarled lip as Watson brought up the visage of the blonde in charge of Enterprise.

"Looks like other humans don't want the aliens to leave either," said Trip Tucker. "Why don't you give up?"

Paxton shook his head. "Aliens are a scourge. They'll contaminate our gene pool and way of life--"

"Isn't it up to humans, not just you, to decide who they want in their gene pool and how to live their lives?" Trip stepped away from his chair and crossed his arms.

Paxton disagreed. "Humans don't know what they're doing! Aliens will defile everything we have come to know – our very way of life."

"I think humans know what they're doing. In fact, I'd say we have a damned good idea. For the first time in our lives we can roam the stars quickly, see new cultures and new civilizations. And humans have seen some wondrous things."

Trip crossed in front of the viewscreen. "We're fortunate enough to be one of the first generation to answer a question that have plagued mankind for centuries: we are not alone."

Trip folded his arms across his chest. "Paxton, you're never going to stop mankind from seeking allies among the stars. You won't stop us from hoping to find similarities."

The commander smiled. "And you've proved it's not just humans who want to seek friends and discover similarities in other species. You've proved the Vulcans, Andorians and Tellarites do as well. You've proved they are just as eager to study new cultures and new civilizations as we are."

A voice behind him, Watson, indicated it was over. "There are more ships than we have weapons."

It meant it was the end.

With defeat, the leader of Terra Prime ended the launch sequence for the nuclear weapons and accepted his fate.

"Paxton, you are under arrest. I've ordered my men to your facility. If you make a more toward any of them, I've asked them to open fire."

"I'll be hanged for treason anyway," Paxton said. His head was held high.

Gardner said, "You won't die a martyr; the death penalty has been abolished for twenty years."

It was then that Paxton wished he hadn't disarmed the weapons and that he didn't hear the sound of footsteps smacking against the linoleum tile near the core. Shooting his gaze at Watson, he wondered briefly if the man brought something to commit suicide with. Gardner was right about one thing, dying a martyr would be so much better; he could still rid the planet of aliens even after his death.

With a sneer, he realized his death would be too late. The sound of a weapon barrel clicked and he heard a voice – definitely military and male – order him onto the ground. Paxton was about to bolt when a boot to the head helped him make contact with the floor.

_It is the end._

---

Relief settled over every pore in Trip's body. He saw just enough to get the idea the leader of Terra Prime would spend a lot of time with criminals like Dr. Soong. A lot of time.

_Maybe they can play cards together,_ quipped Trip.

With a snort, he ordered Hoshi to turn the infernal viewscreen off. He gave a light smile to everyone in the room, one that indicated for the first time in three days everything would be okay. Bounding over to his chair, he reported to all crewmen that the disaster had been avoided. Of course, as he did so, Hoshi quietly mentioned in the background that communication signals to Earth were jammed again. People probably overjoyed to live another day called loved ones.

Trip had the urge to call his parents, but he squashed it for the time being.

_Plenty of time to call them later._

He made himself another promise – that he'd follow up with Gardner personally to see if there was anything else needed and bring Soval into a big 'ole sloppy Southern hug – the kind his grandma gave relatives.

A smile transformed into a grin and Trip contacted Sickbay to find out how the patients were doing – especially Enterprise's littlest member. It would take some getting used to that T'Pol and the captain had a baby, but hell if they could get used to it he supposed he could as well.

"Hey, Doc. Everybody all right?"

"Commander," said Phlox. A frown was in his voice and immediately the commander sat down. "T'Les has perished."

TBC

A/N:-( Sorry everyone. I wanted to keep to canon as much as possible. I know it was heart breaking, and I'm sorry to do that to you. Hopefully, you'll continue to read what happens next. And as you know, it truly is the falling action now, which means there's only one chapter left. May be long, but it will be one.


	17. A new beginning

A/N: FPWest, thanks for your comments. I didn't specify the type of nuclear weapons involved. Since the Romulan War apparently involves them, I thought it would be an interesting twist to bring it up here. No, I didn't specify they had the ability to hurdle through space quickly. I guess I was kinda leaving that up to the readers to understand. But, I think you have a valid point.

About Archer being a wimp. I don't think so.

All, thank you for the comments.

---

Somehow T'Pol made it to her cabin. She had a vague memory of the captain taking her there, and as she opened her eyes to stare at her ceiling, she remembered that she'd asked him to stay. The request and his compliance wasn't out of any need for physical gratification – such a need would be illogical, especially with the grief she was desperately trying to control; she merely needed the comfort of a friend. Having a bond with the man meant he could already see her most personal thoughts about T'Les' death. She needed time to sort through those feelings and allow them to ruminate and the only person she could do that with was Jonathan.

And she could tell he needed comfort as well.

_When they arrived at her quarters and as she poked at their bond and the feelings that the captain kept hidden, she seemed to loosen a crack in his façade: instead of producing occasional, silent tears, the grief was all encompassing. He buried his face in his hands as his shoulders shook with fury. The sound muffled into his fingers emanated from his gut – stuttering like a cough, interrupted by gasps for air. It pried a few more tears from her eyes and she stroked his hair – knowing that humans used this to console each other, until he settled and stopped. _

_The two of them lay down on her bed, talking or really whispering about how they'd be okay. He'd asked if T'Les would go to the Great Hall and with grief in her voice she indicated that domain was only for the wisest of Vulcans, those that had lived for years and had accomplishments. She'd been quick to add T'Les should be buried on Earth, next to Archer's mother and father. _

_It was logical, she argued. _

_The request met with a sad smile. _

Archer made the arrangements – a private ceremony with only their closest friends and family invited to be held only two days after her death. The Bridge crew, Phlox and Commander Tucker were the only ones asked to attend from Enterprise; Soval and Admiral Gardner were the only ones invited who weren't from Enterprise.

No one else.

The day had been much like any other fall day in San Francisco – cool and humid with a breeze blowing, causing Archer's long black coat and her red robes – a somber color to Vulcans – to rustle. The graveyard, to T'Pol, had been unremarkable, despite overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge and the water beyond and besides the large willow trees planted providing shade to those who sought eternal rest; old, gray stones had marked where humans for generations were placed when they died. Their names were not unique, nor the words printed as their epitaph. Two tombstones – erected like bookmarks – noted where Henry and Sally Archer were buried, without any words of wisdom or love. And the pastor, a man Archer had known since childhood, spoke in quiet tones until a tiny casket lowered into the Earth. Although it was not a Vulcan tradition, T'Pol tossed her IDIC, the one she'd clutched in her hand during the service, into the ground as dirt piled higher until the coffin had been covered completely.

Gardner left the service to ward off any press – even the vultures circling for pictures or news. Despite the media's backpedaling on their claims of guilt, righting the story, reporters still wanted to cover the latest information about the half-human, half-Vulcan baby. The dead one.

Finally and without pomp or circumstance, soberly, the crew arrived back on Enterprise and everyone escaped to his room, including T'Pol. She hoped to meditate long and with great concentration, letting the sharp reality sting her as she healed her emotions. And she wanted to do so in private.

Archer to wanted to steal himself away. There weren't any more tears that needed to be shed, certainly not choked ones; instead he wanted to sit in a dark room and ponder the confusing bundle of emotions that rattled him – the ones that caused a his stomach to clench, lips to draw and the need to sleep for much longer than eight hours.

_Much longer._

The pastor, Reverend Miles – a man who'd spoken at his mother's funeral – said something that Jon repeated in his mind ever since T'Les was lowered into the ground, the earth enveloping her: this too shall pass.

_It sure doesn't feel like it._

He'd managed to say a few words, in his mind, to his departed child and parents. Although he didn't firmly believe in God at least before the ceremony, he convinced himself that his mother and father would keep T'Les company in the Great Beyond; maybe his father would fly tiny model spaceships with her by a beach, if Heaven had them, and her mother would read his child poetry.

_Maybe I'll see her again one day. Maybe I'll see them all again one day._

Soval had greeted him after the ceremony as if he knew the human custom, giving his condolences with a firm handshake, which made Archer want to take the man into a hug. Jon thanked him – as much as he could – for everything the Vulcan had done. Everything. When Soval walked away, head bent, Archer thought ironically that Soval had been to this cemetery now three times – for both his parents and now his daughter.

_As many times as me. Ironic._

After taking off his overcoat, shoes and shirt, he slipped in between the sheets of his bed and stared at the ceiling for what seemed like hours before falling asleep, despite it being only late afternoon.

----

Rachel Schulz was a tough woman, but felt soft in a way she hadn't in years. Although it wasn't in her nature to stay after a mission was complete, she got the sense Malcolm could use a friend as well as an explanation. There was something else, seeing him again reminded her of a time when she wasn't a member of Section 31. It made her think about when she was merely Rachel, a young woman with desires and wants … a woman with friends … a woman with less responsibility.

When Reed to his cabin, Rachel was waiting and noticed right away how ashen he was. If she knew anything about the man, and she knew him as well as anyone, she understood the events of the past week were hard on him. It's why when he got back to his room she threw her arms around him.

The two sat on his bed and Malcolm leaned over.

"Why'd you stay?" he asked.

"For you," she said.

She folded her hand over his and leaned in to give him a peck on the cheek.

"You look like you could use a friend," she said.

"Yeah?" He scoffed a little at the sentiment. "Then, why did you set me up?"

"Because I needed to see Miro, and capture him." She sighed. "Capturing him would help so many others."

"Were you successful?" asked Malcolm.

"Yes. Section 31 and Starfleet were able to apprehend him and put him away. He goes on trial this Monday. Because of you …."

"You used me," he said.

She sighed. "I did."

"I don't think that's friendship."

"No. I'm sorry."

Reed removed his hand from hers and stared at the opposite wall, a frown developing on his face. There were a few moments of silence and she leaned in closer to him.

"Malcolm, why did you leave Section 31?"

His blue eyes darted to hers. "For _that _reason. I began to feel dead inside. I was asked to do things I was loathe to do – use relationships, take advantage of innocent people …."

She frowned. "I heard a rumor that you lost your partner in your last mission. I heard it's why you left."

Malcolm shook his head and Rachel got the impression the information was still classified.

He said, "I joined Starfleet thinking I could escape. I was lucky enough to earn a rank as officer."

"It seems escaping Section 31 is difficult."

"Not difficult. Impossible."

Then his lips sloped up only marginally. He said, "You're thinking of leaving, Rachel?"

She turned her head. "What you said – doing things you don't want to …. I understand that better now."

Flipping a piece of her long hair behind her ear, she exhaled a shallow breath. "Commander Tucker made a stupid decision. He decided to help his friends rather than intercept Paxton and protect Earth. And yet, if he hadn't chosen to help his friends, things would've turned out so differently. Our allies may not have been evacuated in time, they wouldn't have shown us support, and the captain and your first officer would be dead."

"Sometimes friendship – people caring about each other – is really the only thing humanity has to offer others and ourselves."

"How did you leave?" she asked. "I mean, what did you do?"

He smiled. "I applied to Starfleet first, and then asked Harrison for a transfer. It made it more difficult for him to say no."

The information tickled her stomach, and she made a mental note of it.

"You know, asking about Section 31 wasn't the only reason I decided to stay an extra day," she said. Her hand reached up and cupped his face.

"Oh?" he asked.

"No."

A smile, a tight one, fell over his lips. He said, "You may've used me, but you helped me with my mission … and you saved my life. And I think you saved my life despite your orders."

Rachel leaned in to kiss the man and he greedily accepted. As he pushed her to the bed, she thought about the last time he did this with her – more than seven years ago when they were both young and naïve. Neither was young nor naïve now, and although the chance of them continuing a relationship was abysmal, there was no place she'd rather be than in his arms – seeking his comfort and providing him some.

"I'm sorry for everything," she whispered.

It made him kiss her deeper.

----

Tucker was alone in his room. He understood human nature … even Vulcan nature … and the vibes he was getting from two of his closest friends on Enterprise were: stay away. He'd wanted to go up to T'Pol during the funeral and hold her hand or comfort her in some way, but she seemed to want to be alone. She stood ramrod straight the entire service, until she tossed her IDIC – the one he knew her mother gave her – into the open grave. A tear threatened to spill down her cheek, which is when Archer clasped his hand around hers.

It wasn't the touch of a lover, not that Trip was jealous any more about the captain's bond with T'Pol. The joining of their hands looked like something the captain would've initiated with her no matter the circumstances … despite their bond.

Archer didn't cry either, not that it surprised Trip. His commander was better than nearly anyone at stuffing down his feelings. Sure, he looked sad – the frown across his face and the weight that seemed to sag his shoulders – was unmistakable.

Trip had lost a child – Lorian – he could relate.

When the service was over, Trip shook Archer's hand, lamely, before drawing him into a hug and then despite the vibes T'Pol gave, he drew her into one too. Maybe it wouldn't make her feel better, but it would make him feel a hell of a lot better.

His own face was wet with tears; no one wants to see a baby die.

When Soval passed, he thought about giving the Vulcan an embrace for all his help, but settled on a firm handshake and a grateful thanks.

_Without him, I wonder if aliens would've permanently left Earth._

Loitering for a few moments, to get a lay of the land, he sensed his commanding officers needed to be alone. Trip nodded to the others, gathering them together away from the cemetery, and gave Reed the order to ask for transport. They beamed onto Enterprise, and everyone headed to their separate rooms without further discussion. Trip caught up with Reed as he headed to his cabin.

"Lovely service," said Reed.

Trip sighed. "Yeah."

"Are they going to be all right?"

"I think so. I hope so."

"I can't imagine losing a child," said Reed.

Trip knew exactly what it felt like and nodded, which Malcolm noted right away. The lieutenant clasped a hand on his back and squeezed his shoulder.

"Sorry, Trip," he said. "I wasn't thinking."

"S'all right."

Reed stopped in his tracks. "Listen. Maybe we can grab a beer … talk …."

"I'd like that."

With that the two separated and Trip had to inwardly smile. _Who would've thought Malcolm Reed would be my best friend._

Trip decided to use this time to reflect a little on everything that happened, and recall the talks he had with Lorian as the two repaired Enterprise together – father and son.

"I miss you," he said to no one in particular.

---

Hoshi was on her way to her cabin, when she heard Phlox's voice directed toward her.

"Ensign, I could use a hand in Sickbay," he said.

Because he never asked before, she took it as a sign that she should accept. Truth be told, she didn't want to be alone right now anyway. Services, especially ones like this, made her want to ignore the situation rather than understand it.

The two silently made their trek to the medical facility. On entry, Phlox did something Hoshi'd never seen. He waved her over to a monitor and pulled up a few family photos. Despite how close they were, she'd never seen these pictures.

"That is my oldest daughter, Zazel. She has two children of her own now and serves at the --"

Hoshi sat through everyone, commenting how much his children looked like him – and to her nearly all Denobulans looked somewhat the same with their ridges, piercing blue eyes and over-extended smiles. Wives, their children and husbands, his children's children all came up on the screen. Some of the pictures made Hoshi laugh, ridiculous photos of families that seemed like they were on vacation with children pushing out python-like tongues. Many of the pictures made her feel squishy on the inside, like the one of Dr. Phlox as a young man holding his first child from his first wife in his arms. There were a few personal moments the two shared, like when Phlox showed her a photo of his estranged sons.

He said, "I've been thinking of talking with them ever since …."

"You should," she said.

"One of them won't want to."

"Let that be _his _decision."

The doctor sighed and then turned the conversation to her. "Have you thought about a family?"

Although it was sweet, she made a sarcastic joke out of it. "You sound like my mother."

It earned a bemused laugh from him, but she answered truthfully. "I do. It seems like there's a lot to explore out here right now."

He nodded.

She said, "You haven't been home since we began this mission more than four years ago."

"I've been thinking of returning lately."

_You told me there is no place you'd rather be than here_, she thought.

"Maybe I'll ask the captain if we may take a small diversion to my planet. It _has _been many years since I've seen my first and third wives. It's been longer since I'm seen my children."

"I'm sure they'd like to see you again."

"And you?" he asked. "Have you thought about seeing your family again soon?"

"I saw my parents less than a year ago, but … I've been thinking of seeing my older brother lately. He works at a technology firm in Tokyo."

"I'm sure he'd like to know his baby sister is all right."

She laughed. "I suppose."

"Do you have pictures of your family?"

"I do," she said. "Let me show you."

And with that, the two walked back to her room so that she could go over all the moving and silly photos of the Sato family.

----

Archer was in the captain's chair, but his thoughts were somewhere else. They weren't necessarily on T'Les, they were scattered on a multitude of topics: catching up with Admiral Gardner on all the events, debriefing with Trip on everything that happened (both professionally and personally) and contacting a Starfleet lawyer to help clear up the media mess. Some media sites hadn't offered retractions or the chance to clear his name, and Starfleet had already offered their legal services to set everything right.

His mind was also on T'Pol – whether she'd be all right.

As if on cue the Vulcan entered the Bridge; he didn't have to look to know she was there, he felt it. Although, he had to admit, the bond between them was dwindling. Her voice, one that was so clear, began to muffle the day they buried their daughter.

He turned to see her sit in her seat, looking as lost as he felt, and he called to her before realizing he had.

"T'Pol, can I see you in my Ready Room?"

The two headed into his office and when the door shut, he touched her arm.

"You okay?"

"Yes. And you?"

"Been better." Sighing, he offered her a chair and watched her fold herself in half. "I tried contacting you last night to talk."

"I was in deep meditation. I apologize."

"You don't need to."

The two were quiet for several seconds.

He said, "Our bond--"

"I know, Jonathan." A slight frown crossed her lips. "Since her death, I feel it withering as well."

There was a lot that he wanted to say, but didn't know how. _Do I actually want the bond to continue, indicating – at least to a Vulcan – that I am her mate? Does she? _

"Do _you _want the bond to continue?" she asked.

"I'm not sure." Pulling at the neck of his black shirt, opening one of the buttons to keep him from suffocating, he watched her. "Do you?"

Her eyes blinked, slowly. "I am unsure as well. Hearing your thoughts …."

_Yes, _he thought. _I have enjoyed it as well._

They had never been intimate, never even kissed – other than the sign of a Vulcan finger touch, which Archer assumed was one of comfort and care rather than sexual attraction. And yet their minds felt like they reached harmony, synchronicity – something he could never imagine having with another creature. She was aware of his inner most thoughts, private ones. Where once it bothered him, now it relieved him – he didn't have to communicate his most clandestine feelings for them to be shared. She was his closest friend before the ordeal, now she was so much closer.

He also enjoyed hearing her thoughts – logical and orderly as they were. They were filled with more compassion than he would've supposed, even as caring as he knew she was; it reinforced logical as she may be, Vulcans had strong emotions. Having her thoughts removed would wound him. He would greatly miss her rummaging around in his head. He'd miss it more, much more, than when Surak left him.

There were other confusing thoughts: although he hadn't thought of children in some time, he wondered briefly if he _should_. Worse, he wondered if he should have them with _her _some day.

_She would be a good mother._

"Having a child with me will not bring back T'Les."

"I know," he said.

"Keeping a bond with me would not bring her back either."

"I know that too."

"Our bond would be difficult for our professional lives," she said.

That was another confounding idea. He hadn't actually given up the idea he may go home, to Earth, and teach. There was even the notion floating around that he'd live near her, walking to work and home with her on a regular basis. Maybe he'd even live with her.

For a moment, he sensed the thought flickered within her as well.

"I know from our bond, you will miss space travel," she said. "It is part of what defines you."

He folded his arms across his chest. "It isn't the only thing."

"No," she said, agreeing. "But, are you making this decision based on the memory of our daughter, or are you choosing this for yourself?"

"I don't know."

"I think the decision should not be made hastily, either to keep the bond or to leave Enterprise."

A frown smacked on his lips. He admitted, "I feel … I'm not sure everything is finished between us."

He knew she understood his meaning – the bond, their relationship (whatever it was) – it seemed there was more to explore, even if he was unsure exactly _what _to explore.

"We have time," she said. Standing, she offered him two fingers, which he met with his own.

"What should we do?"

"Seek clarity." T'Pol rubbed her fingers along his a few times before pulling away. "Time is what we need, Jonathan – to understand our feelings and to separate them from T'Les."

"It will be awkward between us."

"Undoubtedly, but you will always be my friend. Perhaps if we focus on friendship, the other feelings – if they exist – will present themselves."

"That's logical." He gave a small smile. "And I'll be here to talk about T'Les … if you want to remember."

Her hand reached up to cup his face. "Why wouldn't I?"

Reaching his hand around hers, he kept it. "If feelings present themselves …?" he asked.

"We have already established it is possible for us to bond. I believe it can be rekindled."

He nodded and the released her hand. T'Pol looked at the door and then at him.

"Our daughter will always live inside our memories."

Archer nodded and she blinked slowly before opening the door to leave. He knew why she chose to leave then, and not after talking more – the room became thick with emotions. The thought of kissing her hadn't vanished, instead it grew stronger fueled by many feelings, most of which puzzled him.

He'd have to ponder whether he loved her or not, or whether he loved the mother of his child and a friend who shared his thoughts.

---

Soval looked in the mirror and righted the IDIC pinned to his cloak; it was the symbol his forefather had given him when he successfully became bonded to a young girl he'd never met: T'Nara. The girl was gangly with buckteeth and freckles as if she didn't have the good sense to stay out of the Vulcan suns.

He later would marry the woman and quite illogically was happy at the choice. The woman grew to be statuesque and graceful, with long raven hair and amber-colored eyes.

_No time to think about my bondmate now,_ he thought.

Turning slightly behind him to his aide, he asked the young man a question.

"Is all prepared for our arrival?" asked Soval.

His aide, a Vulcan in his early forties nodded. The two drew their robes around them and walked out the door. A familiar figure stopped them in the hall, blocking their way – Gardner.

"Ambassador, I'd like to escort you to conference room … that is if you don't mind," said Admiral Gardner.

The Vulcan piqued a brow in the air and then agreed silently. Slowing his gait, he walked at a pace for the human to keep up.

"I understood you were not going to be at the conference," said Soval.

"I'm not. I just wanted the chance to walk with you. Did you hear about Paxton's verdict?"

"Yes. It did not surprise me."

Gardner agreed. "Starfleet already escorted him to the maximum security Brig. Funny, he'll be neighbors with Dr. Soong."

Winding through corridors, passing aliens one after another, the two headed for the shuttle bay and the ambassador's ship to take him to Sausalito across town. The Coalition of Planets meeting, their first, was scheduled to start in less than twenty minutes, and the Vulcan would _not _be late.

Gardner coughed and then looked up. "You know, my wife is having a gathering and I thought …."

Soval halted his steps only for a second, while the Admiral recovered.

Gardner said, "I mean, we'll have vegetarian dishes … vegan if you prefer. But, you know … she wanted to meet you and I thought it might give us an opportunity to shoot the breeze and--"

"I would … enjoy it," said Soval.

"Good." The human beamed. "You can come by Sunday, 7 p.m. Do you have … errrr, a spouse or someone you'd like to invite?"

"My bondmate, T'Nara, is on Vulcan."

"Has she ever been to Earth?"

"Yes, many times."

"How long you guys been apart?"

"Three years."

"Three years? Seems like a long time."

Soval was silent. _It is barely enough time for Vulcan to circle our suns. It is the blink of an eye, and yet …. _

"Do you miss her?" Gardner asked.

The concept – regretting her absence – was not alien to even a logical creature like him, and for the most part he did _miss_ her. Their bond though would remind him of their betrothals and their nightly communication would ease the slight sag in his shoulders when he thought about T'Nara playing the lyre for him on the patio of their home in Ra'alan under the stars. Gardner waited and the Vulcan eased the tension from his face.

He said, "There are times – as when her sister is visiting – that I find the distance between us … preferable."

The admiral laughed. "I guess in-laws are a burden in every culture. My sister-in-law lives in our town."

"Then perhaps when your wife's sister is at your house, we can spend time with each other."

Gardner smiled. "I'd like that."

"As would I. There is a tea house I have grown fond of."

"Fond? Isn't that an emotion?"

"So it is."

Soval stopped, tilting his face toward the single sun, Sol, and closed his eyes. The rays were not strong and yet they triggered his nictitating membranes. A metallic vehicle, a shuttle, gleamed waiting to take him to Sausalito for the meeting. Stuttering his step, the Vulcan turned his head.

Although Soval knew Gardner wouldn't understand the significance, he separated his fingers into a "v" and then put his hand at his side to walk into the shuttle. As the door closed, Gardner - black hair flapping in the breeze - waved back.

"Good luck," said the human before the portal shut.

_Indeed._

With that, the vehicle shook and zipped away. Soval found himself staring out the window at the compound below: Starfleet. It seemed like just yesterday when the building was being constructed, back when there was a young engineer named Henry Archer and when Maxwell Forrest was just a wide-eyed student eager to assist.

Gardner wasn't there then, he arrived much later. But, he was an honest man, just as the others had been.

_These humans are peculiar creatures. It is strange I should want to befriend them._

Soval knew it was Enterprise that had opened the door for many alien negotiations – settling peace between the Vulcan and the Andorians, arranging for collaboration between the Tellarites and the Andorians and influencing many worlds across the universe to share ideas and explore together.

The Vulcan remembered the man, Archer, his pride bursting and his voice irritating with emotion, threatening to knock his protégé on her "ass." Soval shook his head at memory.

_So much has changed._

_The man and a vessel I did not think should travel the stars have enabled peace. Humans are no longer our children to guide, they are our equals._

Folding his body in half, sitting on the shuttle's metal seat, he felt his IDIC.

_It is for myself, for Vulcan and for T'Les that peace should continue._

He was looking forward to the discussion ahead. They wouldn't always agree, there would be further misunderstandings, but in the end it was the infinite diversity in infinite combinations that help peace survive.

One day, Soval hoped, Vulcans and humans would mingle their genome.

_The reason of a Vulcan paired with the impatience and compassion of a human._

With an eyebrow raised, Soval believed that would make a most interesting creature.

The End

A/N: Thank you for reading. Hopefully, I tied up all the important stuff.


End file.
